


Somniloquy

by Felis Draconis (opposablethumbs)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opposablethumbs/pseuds/Felis%20Draconis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Arthur needs a potion to help him sleep, there is only one person he can turn to. But as Gaius is currently off at a physician's moot in Mercia, Merlin will have to suffice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set some time in canon-era future but contains no spoilers (except supposing some form of extended life of Camelot).

 

  
_And wonder, dread and war have lingered in that land,_  
 _where loss and love in turn have held the upper hand._

(Sir Gawaine and the Green Knight. Translation by S. Armitage 2007. 1.5.18-19)

 

~~~~

  
Arthur stared at the stained wood of his bedroom table, tracing the knots with his eyes. Once, this had been his mother’s table, she had had it in her study. Now Arthur sat at it, ate at it, worked at it and, sometimes, like tonight, failed to sleep at it.  
  
He heard a soft murmur from the bed behind him, Gwen’s breathy stir of wakefulness. “Arthur?” she mumbled.  
  
“I’m here,” he replied.  
  
The candle on the table flickered, Arthur’s eyes itched tiredly. Gwen’s arms tangled around his neck, she kissed his cheek. “It’s alright, Arthur,” she said.  
  
Arthur sighed. Tonight was a night in a hundred; the peace between quests and battles, an island of calm amid the madness; time for him and Gwen to be something other than King and Queen. And yet, despite this, Arthur was not in his wife’s bed. He could give her the balls and banquets, feasts and festivals. He could buy her dresses made from the finest silks imported from the mysterious east, through the Roman Empire whose war drums ever beat. Gwen could ask for anything and he would provide, with one sad exception. The one thing Gwen would never ask for but that Arthur owed her more than anything else.  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” she promised to his unspoken words. “I love you.”  
  
Arthur did not have a problem sleeping when he was with his knights. Camped on the hardest ground, on the coldest plain or wildest peak; Arthur could rest. Even Merlin’s inane chatter could not prevent him from entering the blessed Kingdom of Nod. But here, with Gwen, he could not relax. The soft pillows and clean linen could not entice his head. Gwen’s body, warm and welcoming as it was, reminded Arthur only of what he had failed so far to do.  
  
Gwen stroked her King’s skin, running her hand lightly over his arm. He tensed, his fingers clenching. “Come to bed,” she said.  
  
“I’m not tired,” he lied.  
  
“Arthur, you’re exhausted,” she countered sharply. She bit her tongue. “Just lie with me. You must sleep or else when duty calls, you will be unable to perform it.”  
  
“My duty is to provide for Camelot’s future,” Arthur snapped.  
  
“And you will,” said Gwen.  
  
“When?” Arthur challenged. “How long do we wait? Five years, ten? What if it never happens?”  
  
“Then we will grow old together, you will name a successor and I will _still_ love you,” she vowed. She linked their fingers.  
  
Arthur squeezed them together and then disentangled himself. He stood. “I’m going to go for a walk,” he said with a sigh.  
  
Gwen smiled wanly and nodded. He watched her watch him leave, and the last thing he saw as he closed the door was a single, silent tear roll down her cheek.  
  
****  
  
Somehow, he had found his way through the royal apartments and the guest chambers, his footsteps echoing down the corridors of the palace, until he reached the working part of the castle. His knights, those who were on active service and could not take to their own estates or those knights who he had raised from the commons, lodged there. It was also the permanent residence of the chancellor, the treasurer and the court physician.  
  
He knocked quietly on the lattermost door. “Gaius?” he said softly. There came no answer. Despite his advancing years, Gaius had an unerring ability to rise to his King’s summons. Arthur toed open the door and stuck his head inside. The chambers were dark and smelled of books and potions. It was a green smell, as if nature had somehow been distilled into this one place in the city. He glanced at the small cot which Gaius typically laid in. It was empty.  
  
“Gaius?” he repeated.  
  
There was a clatter from the room at the rear; the sound of a clipped curse. The door to Merlin’s room was flung open. “My Lord?” asked the addled features of Arthur’s manservant. His hair was stuck in misshaped spikes and his eyes were wide with the sudden awakening. Dressed only in breeches, he had the look of a Wilderman to him; a hermit from the elder days.  
  
“Is Gaius here?” Arthur asked.  
  
“What?” Merlin blinked. “No. He has gone to attend a healer’s conference in Mercia. You gave him your leave last week...”  
  
“Oh, yes,” said Arthur. “So I did.” He turned his back on Merlin.  
  
“Did you need something?” Merlin called after him.  
  
Arthur looked around. “Excuse me?”  
  
“Well, it’s just that you’re here. In the middle of the night.”  
  
“It’s my castle,” Arthur replied petulantly.  
  
“Yes, it is,” Merlin agreed. “And there are a number of places in it more welcoming than an empty apothecary.”  
  
Arthur huffed. He closed the door with him inside a little more noisily than strictly necessary. “I can’t sleep,” he said.  
  
“That much is obvious.”  
  
“I was hoping Gaius could give me a sleeping draught. Perhaps like the ones he used to give Morgana.”  
  
“I, um, am not sure that it would do you much good.”  
  
“Hmm,” said Arthur. He poked at a bundle of herbs hanging in the moonlight.  
  
“Is there something _I_ can do for you Sire?” Merlin asked.  
  
“I don’t know. Is there?”  
  
“Well, I...”  
  
“Merlin, you have been Gaius’s apprentice for nearly a dozen years,” Arthur said. “And, as much as I hate to admit it, you have proved yourself a capable physician on occasion.”  
  
“Thank you, Sire,” Merlin said, with an air of mingled surprise, pride and amusement.  
  
“So do you think,” asked Arthur, “that you could fix me something to help?”  
  
“I, uh... yes. Yes I guess so,” Merlin stammered.  
  
“You fill me with so much confidence,” Arthur sneered.  
  
“I can,” Merlin said more surely.  
  
“Very well then.” Arthur took a seat.  
  
Merlin used a spill from the fire to light the braziers and torches in the room. “Right,” he said, mostly to himself. “Where to start?”  
  
“You could begin by putting your shirt on,” Arthur suggested.  
  
Merlin looked down at his bare chest. “Oh. Yes,” he said, his cheeks colouring a delicate pink.  
  
****  
  
Merlin had been having a dream about the wind. He often dreamed in such these days: he heard the call of the wind and saw the invisible patterns of it. Mountains sang to him in deep, ancient voices. The rivers and streams laughed joyfully as they ran through forests of whispering trees. Sometimes, the noises of the world were so loud they awoke him from sleep, as if they were calling him to join them in their music. Tonight, however, it had been the somewhat less melodic notes of his master’s, and friend’s, persistent voice.  
  
Merlin gathered the basic materials he needed and spread them across the desk. In the corner, Arthur was mindlessly batting at one of the hanging bushels of wyrmwort. He looked like an unenthusiastic kitten. Merlin smirked as he decanted some linseed oil into his mixing mortar.  
  
 _3 leaves of comfrey, extract of valerian, lavender, sage._ These were standard ingredients to salve the body and mind. He required something a little special to guarantee Arthur a good night’s sleep, so as not to receive the ever popular ‘ _can’t you do anything right’_ admonishment come the morning. He moved to Gaius’s soporific section. Gaius espoused the systematic display of his medicines - this case held only items that would induce a state of unconsciousness. The lowest shelf held first tier ingredients, they could be guaranteed to make a man drowsy after a moderate imbibitions. Second tier, when correctly mixed, caused everything from a light snooze to the level of unawareness as to be used in surgeries. The third tier held the most potent drugs and poisons. These could produce coma, or take a man to the brink of death whilst preserving him virtually imperceptibly on the very fringe of life.  
  
Merlin decided that the third tier was probably excessive. Arthur was looking to get some shut-eye, not a state funeral. He perused the middle shelf. It began with pickled ape gall (disgusting tasting but not really that effective) and next came crystallised chrysanthemum (effective but not disgusting enough - it was, after all, the middle of the night). Further along he found a ground preparation of owl-feather, mostly used as a short-term sleep-sand that could be blown into someone’s face - useful for dungeon escapes and the like. Snuggled up to this was a small, silver box. Merlin had never seen it before, but it bore a label in Gaius’s handwriting. _Scales from the wing of the great owlet moth._ _Duration 6-8 hours_. Arthur hated moths. Having faced wyverns and dragons, questing beasts and the undead, should a moth get into his chambers, he would hop and curse and yell for Merlin to ‘get the blasted thing away from me’. He had once, in an unexpectedly fierce outburst, called one a ‘flappy bastard’. Merlin smirked. He was unsure of the exact nature of the ingredient, other than it apparently lasted up to eight hours, but it carried no cross of poison nor did it sound particularly dangerous. Putting his faith in Gaius’s filing system, he returned to the bench.  
  
“What’s that?” Arthur enquired.  
  
“Rare ingredient,” said Merlin boldly. “Just for you, Sire.”  
  
Arthur hummed unconvincedly.  
  
Merlin opened the lid to the silver box. Inside were thin, almost invisible leaves; tiny petals that had once belonged to such a ‘flappy bastard’. He pinched a small amount and sprinkled it into the pot. Just for the briefest of seconds, the scales shone silver in the light of the sconce before being swallowed into the oil.  
  
“Something wrong?” Arthur asked, moving to stand by Merlin’s side.  
  
“No, no,” Merlin assured, frowning at the preparation. “I just need a little warmed wine to mix the preparation and then it is ready to drink.”  
  
“And about time, too,” Arthur pouted. “Some of us have a Kingdom to run in the morning, not just a bit of cleaning to do.”  
  
Merlin ignored him, warming the mortar over a flame until the wine just started to steam. He decanted the medicine into five small bottles, finding he had the extra, and giving one to Arthur to drink. Arthur eyed it suspiciously, taking it to the table. He sat and removed the stopper. He looked at it some more.  
  
“Drink up,” encouraged Merlin.  
  
Arthur raised the plumy potion to his lips. “If I die because of this,” he said, “know that I will come back and haunt you.”  
  
“You just want to know what I get up to when you’re not around,” Merlin smirked.  
  
“We all know that, Merlin. You go to the tavern.” Arthur upended the bottle into his mouth. He swallowed. His eyes rolled and his head thudded against the wooden table.  
  
Merlin was frozen with fear.  
  
Arthur began to snore.  
  
****  
  
Merlin slumped into his own bed, worn out. He closed his eyes and listened to nightingales chattering noisily in the eve above his window. After Arthur’s sudden descent into slumber, Merlin had tried to first carry him, and then drag him, back to his room. But Arthur, even without his chainmail, was not a small man and lolloped like a sack of damp turnips in Merlin’s arms. Merlin had made it only half way to the door before reassessing the situation. Arthur’s bedroom was three flights of stairs away and along twice that many corridors. Gaius’s cot was less than ten feet. By those standards, Arthur was now snoring like a wild boar in just the other room.  
  
Merlin closed his eyes and fell asleep.  
  
****  
  
It is a strange thing to be woken by a watcher. There is no reason for them to rouse you; they are silent and motionless. Somehow your body just _knows_.  
  
Merlin’s body just knew. He came slowly to, the casual awareness of prickly embarrassment growing more and more defined. Then there came the moment between sleeping and waking, much like the dawn that is navy one moment and scarlet the next, and consciousness suddenly leapt into him. His eyes flew open.  
  
“Arthur!” he yelped, bolting upright.  
  
Arthur was sat at the end of his bed, silent and motionless; watching.  
  
“Arthur,” Arthur agreed.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Merlin asked.  
  
“Here?” Arthur queried.  
  
“In my room!” Merlin cast about in terror and, there - oh, God _there_ \- was his spell book sat open on his dresser.  
  
“My room,” Arthur pouted.  
  
“Look Arthur, I know this whole castle is technically yours but a man’s room is surely his own.”  
  
Arthur blinked and tipped his head to one side. He mouthed much of Merlin’s prior statement, audibly pronouncing only ‘ _his own_ ’.  
  
Merlin frowned. He reviewed the exchange.  
  
“Why are you repeating me?” he asked.  
  
“Repeating you,” Arthur said.  
  
“Ha! Caught you!” Merlin barked. “Look, I don’t know what kind of game this is...”  
  
“Game?” Arthur said hopefully.  
  
“No games!” Merlin said.  
  
Arthur’s face fell.  
  
“Go to bed, Arthur,” Merlin said tiredly.  
  
Arthur grinned and in a fluid movement, slipped into Merlin’s bed. Merlin instantaneously skittered out the other side. “What are you doing!” he squawked.  
  
“Doing?” replied Arthur. There was just the faintest hint of mirth in the way he said it.  
  
Merlin scowled at him. Arthur was known for his jocular horseplay, but it usually came in the form of physical discomfiture, not inexplicable mind games. That said, Merlin _was_ fairly uncomfortable right at that moment.  
  
He considered his options. There was one cast-iron surety to break this silly charade. He glowered down at Arthur, now making himself comfy in Merlin’s bed.  
  
“Dollophead,” Merlin stated.  
  
“Dollophead,” Arthur agreed.  
  
Merlin shook his head. “Fine,” he huffed. “You sleep here, I’ll have Gaius’s bed. But,” he cautioned boldly, “in the morning, you and I are having a chat about personal space.”  
  
“You and I,” Arthur murmured, already drifting off.  
  
With an exasperated shrug, Merlin went into the other room, casually scooping his book up on the way past.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur needs a potion to help him sleep, there is only one person he can turn to. But as Gaius is currently off at a physician's moot in Mercia, Merlin will have to suffice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set some time in canon-era future but contains no spoilers (except supposing some form of extended life of Camelot).

The alarm bells sounded, peeling through the castle. The noises of shouts and thundering boots broke the peace of the morn.

“Hey!” yelled Arthur, shooting upright in his - or rather, _Merlin’s_ \- bed. “What’s wrong! What’s going on! Where the hell _am_ I?”

Merlin burst through the door to the room.

“My lord!” he said.

Arthur sprang up. “What am I doing here, Merlin?” he accused.

“You...” Merlin frowned in confusion. “You came here last night, asking me to give you a sleeping draught.”

“Why am I in your bed?” demanded Arthur.

“Don’t you remember?” Merlin asked.

“No, ‘else why would I ask!”

Merlin blinked. “There really isn’t time for this. Someone has sounded the alert. Something must have happened.”

“Bring me my boots,” Arthur commanded.

“You didn’t arrive wearing any, Sire,” Merlin replied. “Just... those.” He nodded at the soft, calfskin pumps that Arthur only ever wore in his own chamber, strewn at the foot of the bed.

“Fine,” growled Arthur. “Bring me those and then we will find out what is going on.”

****

Merlin skidded down the corridor to the royal apartments, several strides ahead of Arthur who, in his slippers, found it a little hard to run.

 _“He went out for a walk last night and when I awoke this morning, he was still missing.”_ It was Gwen’s frantic voice on the other side of the oak door.

 _“Don’t worry, My Lady,”_ Leon’s calming rumble assured her. “ _I’m certain he can’t have gone far_.”

Merlin opened the door. In his moment’s eavesdropping, Arthur had caught up and pushed past his manservant, into his bedroom.

“Sire!” Leon said. “We were worried for you!”

“Worried, why?” Arthur replied.

Gwen flung herself at him, dressed only in her nightgown. “We thought you had been kidnapped!” she said, faint chastise in her tones.

Arthur embraced her and then stepped away. “I spent the night in Merlin’s chamber,” he said.

Leon raised his eyebrow and glanced over Arthur’s shoulder to Gwen. He seemed less surprised at the admission as he did at whose presence it was voiced in.

“I gave him a sleeping potion and it worked a little quicker than I expected,” Merlin explained. “And you know what a heavy lump he is...”

“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur warned.

“Cancel the alarm,” Leon told an aide. He looked sternly at Arthur. “Sire, you should not be wandering about the castle at night unattended,” he said.

“I don’t need nurse-maiding by soldiers,” Arthur grumbled.

“No, he has me for that,” Merlin added with a grin. His attempt to lighten the mood fell flat.

“Nobody likes a smart-mouthed servant,” Arthur told him in tones that broached no dissent.

“No, Sire,” Merlin agreed.

 

****

 _“Her lips were as red_  
 _As sunset-dipped seas_  
 _And her voice was as bright_  
 _As summertime’s breeze...”_ sang Arthur softly under his breath.

“Mollith the Fair?” Merlin asked, pouring Arthur a goblet of water as he sat at his desk. “You seem to have perked up.”

Arthur nodded slowly. He put down his pen. “I feel... refreshed. I have to say, sometimes you are not entirely useless after all, Merlin.”

Merlin smirked as he read Arthur’s excessively grandiose epistle over his shoulder. “You really don’t remember what happened last night?” he asked.

“I... vaguely recall taking your potion but after that...”

“Yeah, you were pretty out of it.” Merlin chuckled to himself.

Arthur frowned. “I didn’t... disgrace myself did I?”

“Well...” drawled Merlin. “Not unless you count trying to get in bed with me.”

Arthur wafted his quill at Merlin. “That isn’t funny,” he said.

“I wasn’t laughing,” Merlin replied.

“Humph,” Arthur hummed. “Well, tonight, I want you to bring me your potion to my bedroom and then there will be none of that to worry about.”

“You want the potion again tonight?” Merlin asked.

“Have you got ink in your ears?” Arthur snapped.

“No. I just didn’t think you’d need it again.”

“Merlin, when you have an entire country relying on you to make astute, informed decisions, you will cherish a clear head as much as I. Not everyone can afford to drink away their spare hours.”

Merlin shook his head in despair. He had long since ceased his protestations of tavern-innocence. It seemed to be the only lie that Gaius could muster at short notice and, with the clandestine nature of some of the things he truly does get up to, Merlin decided it was the lesser of two evils.

“You know, a servant has responsibilities too,” he mused.

“Oh yes?” said Arthur. “Like?”

“Like... checking that the King knows how to spell ‘ordinance’.”

Arthur squinted at his letter. “Where?” he demanded.

Carefully, Merlin reached past Arthur to point at the misspelt word. “No ‘s’,” he observed.

Arthur tutted and reached for the salt. “How did you get so good at spelling?” he grumbled. “You’re practically the village idiot.”

“Just a talent I was born with, Sire,” Merlin explained.

****

Arthur felt marvellous. He could not remember the last time his body was so relaxed, poised and alive. Only the feeling immediately after a battle, before the fatigue set in and the thrum of adrenalin still pumped in his veins, could compare.

He smiled at Gwen, sat taking her luncheon opposite him, at the table that had once been his mother’s. She had been uncommonly quiet that morning, ever since his return to their room. She swallowed delicately and returned his smile.

“You look very beautiful today, Gwen,” he said.

“I...” She frowned a tiny, piqued frown at the unexpected compliment. “Thank you.”

Arthur chewed his lip. “I... I know I snapped at you last night.”

“You were tired,” she said.

“Yes, I was,” he agreed.

“Then _why_ wouldn’t you come to bed with me?” she asked.

Arthur took a deep breath and held it for a moment before exhaling heavily. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

“You do love me, don’t you?”

“Yes!” promised Arthur. “You are my queen.”

“And you are my husband,” Gwen replied.

“I _do_ love you,” he vowed.

And he did. Gwen, more than any woman in the world, owned his soul. Yet, he was a King before he was a husband, and a Prince before he was a lover. From the cradle, he had been taught to fight; to bear arms; to put matters of state before matters of the heart. Although he no longer aspired to make his father proud, the lessons of a lifetime could not be unlearned. Being with his knights - that was easy. He could face monsters and magic without (excessive) fear. He had stared into the very face of death itself and not balked. He broke gaze with Gwen.

“How’s your chicken?” he asked, staring at his own ravaged meal.

“Fine, my Lord,” she said dutifully.

Arthur felt the tension in the air. Last night, he would have snapped with it but now, thanks to Merlin, he had the energy to push away his own squall of irritation at her fake obsequiousness. “What is wrong, Guinevere?” he asked softly.

She put down her fork. “Sometimes I think that Uther was right,” she said.

“My father was right about many things and wrong about as many others,” Arthur replied. “And he was wrong about you and I. You are my queen, and my wife, and I would not change that for the world.”

Gwen smiled, and it was the first true smile he had seen from her than day. He stood and moved to her side, taking her hand in his and guiding her to her feet. Her deep brown eyes flickered over his face. “I promise,” he whispered, “that things will get better. I have told Merlin to bring me another preparation tonight and we will take to bed together.”

Gwen giggled. She looked as young and lovely as the day they wed. “We could take to bed together now for practice?” she suggested.

“I have to meet with the ambassador from Gaul later.”

“He could wait,” Gwen suggested.

Arthur kissed her lightly. “Tonight will be soon enough,” he said.

The door banged and they jumped apart, like young lovers caught by their parents. Merlin clattered into the room. Gwen’s cheeks rouged prettily and Arthur felt his own inexplicably heat.

“Have you finished with lunch?” Merlin asked, seemingly oblivious to any awkwardness.

“I think so,” Arthur sighed.

Gwen smirked and nudged him. “The chicken was lovely, Merlin. Thank you.”

Merlin blinked. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” he asked.

Arthur stifled a grin - he must truly be feeling better for Merlin’s blather to be amusing to him rather than irritating. “I doubt you would realise if you were,” he mocked.

Merlin frowned with his customary expression of poorly-concealed disgruntlement. Mixed in with it, Arthur saw just a little hurt and he regretted that. Merlin had been, and continued to be, one of his most faithful servants and - despite his common roots - noblest ally.

“Lunch was very nice today,” he said once the table had been cleared.

Merlin turned the frown, softened by surprise, on Arthur. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, Arthur,” he said.

****

Merlin knocked at the door to Arthur and Gwen’s chamber. “Sire?” he said softly.

“Come in, Merlin,” Arthur replied through the wood.

Merlin entered the room. Gwen was already in bed but awake. It was strange for a manservant to be allowed to see the Queen in such a state of undress, but Merlin’s dual role as aide and novice physician made the loose tongues of the castle hold. That he and Gwen were friends, and had seen far more terrible things together than a few underclothes, was the closer truth behind the familiarity, but accepting the austere option was easier for some of the court.

“Merlin,” she greeted with a smile.

“Do you have my potion?” Arthur asked.

Merlin fumbled with his satchel, and the contents tinkled. He withdrew one of the slender vials of medicine. In the firelight, it seemed to glow ever so slightly; a trick of the flames, no doubt. “Here, he said, keeping hold of it. “But... are you sure you want it? Wouldn’t you rather wait until Gaius returns and seek a more permanent remedy?”

“No,” said Arthur, his eyes straying to the bed. He plucked the vial from Merlin’s hand and swallowed it whole. “Tell me again how long this takes to ---”

His knees buckled. Gwen darted from the bed as Merlin attempted to catch him, adding her strength to Merlin’s own.

“Is he okay?” she gasped, heaving his torso on to the bed.

“Yeah,” panted Merlin, lifting Arthur’s posterior to the same, “it worked even quicker last night.”

“And he will be like this until the morning?” she asked, smoothing her nightgown now Arthur was safely stowed.

“Probably,” said Merlin. “Although, if he does wake up and started talking a little bit strangely, don’t worry. Just tell him to go back to sleep.”

Gwen sighed. “I suppose it is a start,” she said.

“Excuse me?” Merlin asked.

She smiled at him. “It's not important, Merlin. Thank you for this.”

Merlin bowed a short bow of respect as he took his leave. Beyond the door, he almost skipped by to his room. It had been a long day following a long night and, never mind Arthur, Merlin was ready for his bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur needs a potion to help him sleep, there is only one person he can turn to. But as Gaius is currently off at a physician's moot in Mercia, Merlin will have to suffice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set some time in canon-era future but contains no spoilers (except supposing some form of extended life of Camelot).

_The grass was green, the air heavy with the scent of jasmine. The sky above Merlin was blue. A great lake sat placidly, not stirred by even a hint of wind. In it reflected tall mountains, their white caps reaching for the azure heavens. He heard the sound of laughter; of his name being called. The voice tinkled sweetly; he had known it, once. ‘Merlin,’ it called. ‘Merlin...’_  
  
“Merlin?”  
  
Merlin flailed himself awake, sitting up so fast his head swam.  
  
Arthur looked at him. “Hello Merlin,” he said.  
  
“Uhh...” Merlin blinked a few times.  
  
“How are you?” Arthur asked in an unusually clipped voice.  
  
“Um, fine. I was just...” he glanced back at his pillow, the shape of his head indented in it. “Asleep.”  
  
“I wanted to talk to you,” Arthur said.  
  
“In the middle of the night?” Merlin answered. “I mean, what about,” he corrected hurriedly.  
  
Arthur shrugged.  
  
Merlin squinted at him. “So... you wanted to talk to me, but you don’t know what about?” he asked, trying to wrap his thoughts into some semblance of sense.  
  
“Yes,” Arthur agreed.  
  
Merlin sighed. “Alright,” he conceded. “So talk.”  
  
“I like you Merlin.” Arthur said. “You’re my friend.”  
  
Merlin frowned. “Okay...” he said suspiciously.  
  
Arthur tipped his head quizzically to one side.  
  
“But...” prompted Merlin.  
  
Arthur shrugged. “But nothing. I like you.”  
  
Merlin clambered out of his bed. He put a hand to Arthur’s forehead.  
  
“What are you doing?” Arthur asked.  
  
“I’m checking you for fever,” Merlin explained. He then ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair, the softness of the pampered tresses making his fingers tingle. “No, no signs of trauma, either,” he assessed.  
  
“Why would I be injured?” asked Arthur.  
  
“Because,” Merlin replied, sitting down on his bed. “You never tell me you like me. You rarely say that we’re friends. It only ever happens after we’ve had, or are just about to have, some terrifying encounter with a beast or spirit. You don’t,” said Merlin matter-of-factly, “wake me up to tell me.”  
  
Arthur sat down beside him. “Oh. Sorry,” he said forlornly.  
  
On a quest, it wasn’t uncommon for him and Arthur to sit this close; sharing the warmth of a patch of ground by a weak fire. Here, in his own room, on his own _bed,_ Merlin felt the proximity press at him. The nervous energy pushed him to his feet. He looked down at Arthur.  
  
“Is everything alright?” he asked.  
  
“Yes,” Arthur said quickly, avoiding Merlin’s gaze. He twisted the rough weave of Merlin’s bedsheet between his fingers. “No,” he amended.  
  
“What’s up?”  
  
Arthur shrugged. “I can’t remember,” he said. He frowned down at the sheet.  
  
“What do you mean you ‘can’t remember’,” said Merlin.  
  
Arthur looked up finally, his blue eyes snatching Merlin’s with sudden intensity. “It’s like... I’m seeing through fog. Here.” He tapped his temple. “It’s like... a dream that I can’t quite catch.”  
  
Merlin chewed his lip thoughtfully. “I think...” he said slowly, “that it has something to do with the sleeping potion I gave you.”  
  
“Sleeping potion?” Arthur asked. “But I’m awake.”  
  
“Yes,” Merlin agreed. “But the same thing happened last night - you turned up here - and then this morning you couldn’t remember any of it.”  
  
“I remember last night,” Arthur said. “I... wanted to tell you. Something. But I couldn’t... I couldn’t find the words. I just...”  
  
“Do you remember what else happened?” Merlin prompted.  
  
Arthur’s gaze flickered guiltily from Merlin’s face. “I, uh, yes,” he said. “I’m sorry about that. I just needed...”  
  
“What?” Merlin asked thickly, his throat was tight.  
  
Arthur sighed. “Something,” he said.  
  
“Right. That something again,” Merlin drawled.  
  
Arthur grabbed Merlin’s pillow and clouted him firmly with it.  
  
“Hey!” Merlin yelped. He grabbed the nearest thing to hand, a balled up pair of yesterday’s breeches, and hurled them back at Arthur.  
  
Arthur laughed. “Did you just throw your pants at me?” he said.  
  
“Uh, yes?” Merlin replied.  
  
“You will regret that,” Arthur promised, before launching an all-out assault on Merlin’s person with a lumpy, duck feather pillow.  
  
Merlin tried to defend himself whilst simultaneously finding objects strewn about his room to chuck at Arthur in return. They scurried around Merlin’s tight little bedroom for a few minutes before swilling out into Gaius’s chamber.  
  
“Careful!” Merlin cautioned as one of Arthur’s swipes came close to knocking a shelf of emetics to the ground. He bounded to the door. “You think you’re fast enough to catch me, old man?” he asked.  
  
“I’m barely older than you!” Arthur replied. “And I know this castle like the back of my hand.”  
  
“Well then,” Merlin smirked.  
  
Arthur kicked off his loose slippers and took his marks. “In the spirit of fairness, I will give you a ten count head start,” he said. He narrowed his eyes at Merlin. “Ten,” he said solemnly.  
  
Merlin wasted no time in darting out of the door and heading towards the perfect hiding place that was the many-lardered kitchens of Camelot.  
  
****  
  
From kitchen to stables, lowest vault to highest battlement; despite the cool night air and the confused looks on the faces of the watch that saw them blaze past, Merlin and Arthur played this game. As King, it might worry Arthur to be seen pounding around barefoot at one of the clock but, also as King, he knew that his guards would not say anything. There might be some meaningful looks, and some slurred asides at the Tavern, but it was a small price to pay for this wonderful, ridiculous relief. It had been so very long since Arthur just _did_ something, because of the pressures of state and the expectations heaped upon him. This nocturnal silliness, with his very finest friend, made him feel more alive than if he had just beaten the whole host of the mighty Roman empire single-handed.  
  
Panting, he leant against the cold castle wall. He laughed breathily. Merlin caught him up and flopped heavily against the opposing wall.  
  
“You’re mad, you know?” he wheezed.  
  
“Aren’t all Kings?” Arthur replied.  
  
“Well, yes...”  
  
Arthur huffed a chuckle and attempted to kick Merlin’s thigh at buttock level, failing tiredly. “For that, you can change the horses hay in the morning.” He sniffed himself delicately. “I smell like compost.”  
  
Merlin grinned. “I’d say it was an improvement,” he quipped.  
  
“You...” Arthur chastised, waggling his finger at Merlin.  
  
“Come on,” Merlin sighed. “We really should get you back to Gwen.”  
  
Arthur nodded. The sky was indeed beginning to lighten and, as the year was coming to its close, that suggested there were only a few hours until his sombre responsibilities as sovereign lord must recommence. “Agreed,” he said. Merlin pushed himself away from the wall and Arthur followed suit. On a whim, he slung his arm around his companion’s narrow shoulders. He felt Merlin startle.  
  
“What?” he asked.  
  
“It’s just we... Nothing,” Merlin stammered in reply. He felt the other man’s arm hook cautiously around his waist, pressing the sweaty fabric of his shirt to the small of his back.  
  
“You’re a good friend,” said Arthur quietly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur needs a potion to help him sleep, there is only one person he can turn to. But as Gaius is currently off at a physician's moot in Mercia, Merlin will have to suffice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set some time in canon-era future but contains no spoilers (except supposing some form of extended life of Camelot).

Arthur rolled over, hiding his eyes from the harsh sunlight smacking him in the face.  
  
“Arthur?”  
  
Arthur groaned. “Go away,” he grumbled into the pillow.  
  
“I can’t,” said the voice.  
  
Arthur swore quietly to himself. “Why not?” he asked.  
  
“Because you have duties, My lord.” The pillow was pulled from under his head, making his forehead loll uncomfortably far forward. His rump was then smote with the pillow.  
  
“Stuff it, Merlin,” Arthur grouched.  
  
“Do I sound like a man?” the voice demanded.  
  
Arthur rolled back onto his side. He opened his eyes. Gwen stood, hands on hips, framed in the light of the window.  
  
“Guinevere?” he asked. His mouth was parched as if he had committed great exertions in the night.  
  
“Oh, he awakes,” Gwen observed dryly. “You know, sometimes I think I already have a child to care for.”  
  
Arthur huffed and tutted. “What time is it?” he asked.  
  
“Nearly eleven of the clock,” she said.  
  
Arthur groaned again. “Don’t I... have to brief my knights at eleven?”  
  
“Yes,” replied Gwen tersely. “So get up.” She threw back his cover unceremoniously. He wriggled on the mattress. “Good God,” she said. “Look at the colour of your feet!”  
  
“What?” said Arthur, struggling to his seat. He swung his legs out of bed and then turned an ankle to look at the soles of his feet. They were as black as an unshod urchin’s. “Where’s Merlin?” he demanded. “Why didn’t he wake me at a decent time?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Gwen admitted. She reached out and pulled a small tuft of straw from his hair. She looked at it with curiosity. “I think we need to get the mattress restitched,” she concluded.  
  
Arthur stood and shouted ‘ _Merlin!_ ’ He waited a moment for his manservant. Then he opened the door and shouted Merlin’s name down the corridor. He waited for the sound of boots running on stone. There was none. He huffed and went to the window, flinging it open. “Merlin!” he bellowed into the courtyard below.  
  
Suddenly, Merlin’s head poked out of the door to the royal stables. “Yes, Sire?” he shouted in return.  
  
“Get up here!” Arthur demanded.  
  
“But I’m...” he pointed behind him. “Coming...” he conceded.  
  
Arthur closed the window. “Sometimes I wonder why I keep him around,” he grumbled.  
  
Gwen moved to his side, her silken dresses swishing softly. She touched his arm; kissed his cheek. “Because he is your friend,” she said.  
  
“Ha!” Arthur replied. “He’s a servant.”  
  
Her hand was removed. “I was a servant,” she said quietly.  
  
He turned to face her. “Gwen...”  
  
“You are still so concerned with what’s right and proper, aren’t you?” Gwen scolded. “You say you want Camelot to be a fair and equal society but you cannot look past such a simple thing as rank to call him your friend.”  
  
“Have I not raised knights from the commons?” Arthur challenged.  
  
“Yes,” agreed Gwen. “But they will always _be_ the knights you raised from the commons, rather than just Knights of Camelot. You do not trust them with economic or diplomatic missions, only as bodies to swing a sword.”  
  
The door crashed open. “Sire?” Merlin panted.  
  
Arthur frowned, still caught on Gwen’s words. He turned away from her sharply. “Where in the hell have you been, Merlin?” he demanded.  
  
“I’ve been... in the stables,” Merlin said.  
  
“Doing what?”  
  
Merlin looked down at his clothes which were covered in straw and dung. “Mucking them out?” he suggested. “Like you told me to?”  
  
“I did no such thing,” Arthur responded. “Why would I send you to do a stablehand’s work?”  
  
Merlin tipped his head. “But... last night...”  
  
“Have you been dreaming about me again, Merlin?” Arthur mocked. “Really, I am flattered, but you should try dreaming about wine or women. Or cheese, even. Anything that means you are able to conduct your duties in a timely fashion. Now bring me my clothes.”  
  
Merlin shook his head. “Yes _Sire,_ ” he said.  
  
****  
  
“... and the situation on the border is still fragile, with Brynmor’s men still amassing at Caer Wyr.” Arthur kept his eyes focussed on the table before him, deep in thought. “My Lord?” Leon said. Arthur didn’t answer. “My Lord?” he repeated, more loudly.  
  
Arthur lifted his head. “Yes?” he said.  
  
“Did you hear..?”  
  
“Brynmor is still beating his chest over the tin shipments, I heard,” Arthur said.  
  
“Well?”  
  
Arthur sighed. “What does he want?” he asked.  
  
“He says that the he needs to open a new shaft in the mines and that will cost eight thousand sovereigns.”  
  
“And how much tin does he expect to yield?”  
  
“He is uncertain, Sire, but he promises that he has found a substantial deposit.”  
  
“Then raise the export cost by two sovereigns per tonne, which should amply cover the cost of his new pit. Really, Leon, this isn’t catapult science. When you are conducting affairs of the state, you need to learn to speak with authority and act with conviction on what it best for Camelot.”  
  
“My Lord?”  
  
“To this end, I have decided on a change in assignments,” Arthur said. “Leon, you and Gwaine will swap tasks. I want you to go on manoeuvres with the new recruits, Leon, and Gwaine will oversee trade negotiations with the Meurigians.”  
  
Leon balked. “Sire, do you think that wise?”  
  
“Have I done something wrong, Arthur?” Gwaine asked over him.  
  
Arthur held up his hands. “This is not a punishment. Gwaine, you have an excellent wit and could talk a horse to drink, were it not even at the water. Leon, your experience as a knight is second to none and our recruits will only benefit from your knowledge.”  
  
Leon’s scowl faded. “Sire,” he accepted.  
  
“I’m looking forward to business lunches,” Gwaine replied.  
  
“Good,” Arthur said. “Now, if that’s settled, and there is no other business...”  
  
“Is there somewhere you need to be, Sire?” Leon asked, trying to make it sound as polite as possible.  
  
“I have promised to take Guinevere riding this afternoon, if you must know,” Arthur retorted. Leon shrank a little.  
  
“It’s just...” picked up Gwaine, “we thought you might be tired.”  
  
“Quite the opposite,” Arthur assured. “Why do you ask?”  
  
Gwaine faltered, less from embarrassment as having to hide his smirk behind his hands.  
  
“Well, with all the running, Sire...” Percival, who rarely spoke at the council meetings, found his voice. “Any one of us would be a little fatigued.”  
  
“What running?” Arthur snapped.  
  
Gwaine, Leon and Percival looked about themselves, the other, more junior knights, made a good job of finding parchment to shuffle.  
  
“Has Merlin put you up to this?” Arthur demanded.  
  
“Have any of you seen Merlin?” asked Gwaine innocently.  
  
“Not I,” said Leon.  
  
“Nor I,” said Percival. “Certainly not at any point last night when I was on guard duty.”  
  
Arthur frowned. “I must find you all more work to do, you clearly have far too much time on your hands,” he said.  
  
****  
  
They galloped through the forest, their horse’s hooves throwing up clods of damp earth and fallen leaves. Autumn was truly coming in, with the canopy turning to red and gold above their heads. Arthur spurred his horse and heard Gwen laugh as she moved to catch up.  
  
At length they came to a river, and dismounted to give their steaming horses time to rest. Gwen stooped to fill her and Arthur’s waterskins. It was quite the scandal that, when not on official business, the Queen would often take to the saddle in breeches and fur. Arthur loved it when Gwen dressed like that; how the breeches would cling to her rear and the fur accentuate her bosom. She looked strong, assertive. Had Arthur wanted someone who would agree with his every word, to simper and fawn, he could have taken any number of Princesses for his wife. To him, she looked far more regal like this than in the dress expected of a Lady. He came up behind her and pulled her close.  
  
“That is no fit task for a Queen,” he said.  
  
She turned to bring them chest to chest. “Out here, I’m not a Queen. I’m Gwen and you are only Arthur.”  
  
“Well then, _Gwen_ ,” Arthur said, taking her hand and kissing it. “Would you care to join me on this bower?” He gestured to a pile of dryish leaves he had gathered while she was otherwise engaged.  
  
“Certainly, Arthur,” she agreed. They laid upon the leaves, the earthy smell filling Arthur’s nose. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she said.  
  
“Thank you for coming,” he replied.  
  
“And thank you for not bringing Merlin,” she said with a smirk.  
  
“We’re not attached at the hip,” he countered. She poked his stomach playfully. He sighed. “I gave him the afternoon off. You’re right, I should remember he is more than just someone to follow my orders.”  
  
“Your friend?” she prompted.  
  
“My friend,” he agreed.  
  
She kissed him. The cool air brought prickles to his arms which Gwen’s touch tickled.  
  
“We could...” he suggested breathily, sliding his hand under her fur.  
  
“What? Out here?” she said.  
  
“There’s no-one for miles,” he assured. Her eyes cast down. “What?” he said.  
  
“You can lie with me here, in the open, but when we are together in Camelot you won’t come near me.”  
  
“In Camelot, we have an entire Kingdom watching us,” he sighed.  
  
“And _that_ is your problem,” Gwen said. She stirred agitatedly. “I think we should go back,” she said. “It’s getting cold.”  
  
Arthur sighed and nodded. He helped her onto her horse courteously.  
  
“I will take to the guest apartments tonight,” she said. “You must be tired from all the riding.” She spurred her horse forward into a canter. Arthur took to his mount and followed her home.  
  
****  
  
Merlin rapped on the solid oak barring the entrance to Arthur’s room. He heard no response from within. Tentatively, he opened the door.  
  
“Arthur?” he asked.  
  
Arthur looked up from the table, where his head had been resting.  
  
“Oh, it’s you,” he said.  
  
Merlin cast about the chambers. “Where’s Gwen?” he asked.  
  
“Didn’t I give you the day off?” Arthur replied snittily.  
  
“You gave me the _afternoon_ off,” Merlin corrected. “I’d already cleaned out the stables, dressed you and prepared your papers for the council meeting.”  
  
“And what did you _do_ with your afternoon?” Arthur asked. “Or should I just ask at the tavern?”  
  
Merlin sighed. “I didn’t go to the _tavern_ ,” he insisted. “I went to the forest, picking herbs.”  
  
“And did you get what you went for?”  
  
“Um, yes,” Merlin replied.  
  
Arthur humphed. “Then you did better than I did,” he said.  
  
“Sire?”  
  
“Never mind,” said Arthur. He stretched. “Why are you here?” he asked.  
  
Merlin brandished his satchel in front of him like a shield. “I thought you might want another sleeping draught,” he said.  
  
“Of all nights, I think tonight I might need help sleeping,” Arthur replied.  
  
“Then it’s good that I’m here.”  
  
“It’s good you’re here,” Arthur echoed. He frowned and looked at Merlin curiously. “Have I done that before?” he asked.  
  
Merlin shook his head. “No Sire.”  
  
“Hmm.” Arthur went behind his dressing screen. His passed his padded waistcoat to Merlin, who hung it on a chair. His belt and breeches followed, and his outer tunic. He stepped from behind the screen in his undershirt and unbound leggings.  
  
Merlin turned back the covers on Arthur’s bed. A patch of black smudges stood out against the white linen.  
  
“My feet,” Arthur explained. “They were dirty.”  
  
Merlin looked at him crookedly. “And you have no idea how that happened?” he asked.  
  
Arthur shrugged. “Not a clue,” he admitted.  
  
“Fine,” said Merlin. He tried to keep the disappointment from his voice.  
  
Arthur moved to his side, standing between Merlin and the bedside table. “So...” he said.  
  
Merlin glanced at him. He wet his lips.  
  
“The potion?” Arthur prompted.  
  
“Oh,” said Merlin hurriedly. “Oh yes.” He fished the sleeping draught from his bag and gave it to Arthur. “Don’t you want to...”  
  
Arthur swallowed the medicine before Merlin could suggest actually getting in to bed.  
  
“You know,” said Arthur. “This stuff isn’t bad. It warms all the way down you can feel it... feel it...” His knees buckled and Merlin caught him, guiding him down onto the mattress.  
  
“You have warm hands,” Arthur muttered. “That is good for a physician.”  
  
“Um, thank you,” Merlin said. He was still touching Arthur. He released him and balled his fists behind his back.  
   
“I always have cold hands,” said Arthur, his eyes closed and his breaths deepening.  
  
Merlin teased his lip with his teeth. “You have Gwen to warm them for you,” he said.  
  
Arthur sighed and rolled on his side, stretching his arm out to the empty side of the bed. He didn’t reply; he was fast asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur needs a potion to help him sleep, there is only one person he can turn to. But as Gaius is currently off at a physician's moot in Mercia, Merlin will have to suffice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set some time in canon-era future but contains no spoilers (except supposing some form of extended life of Camelot).

Merlin was not quite asleep when he heard the door to his room sigh open and then closed. Despite the hour, he had not been able to drift fully off. Part of him said that Arthur would not come tonight, that the potion’s effect was obviously wearing thin, as betokened by the relative length of conversation he and Arthur had in his chambers. The other part _hoped_ he was wrong, that Arthur - an Arthur who cared less for appearing Kingly, or manly, or superior and more about spending time with his _friend_ Merlin - would show up.  
  
He opened his eyes. Arthur’s met his.  
  
“I remembered,” Arthur said.  
  
“What?” said Merlin.  
  
“I remembered what I wanted to talk about.”  
  
Merlin sat up. He rubbed his eyes. “What?” he asked.  
  
Arthur slumped onto the foot of the bed. He wriggled until he found himself a comfortable spot. “Gwen,” he said.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Merlin wasn’t sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t that.  
  
“Do you think she is beautiful?”  
  
“Um...”  
  
“Come on, be honest,” Arthur encouraged. He drew his legs up onto the bed so that his feet - still filthy - overlapped Merlin’s own under the covers.  
  
“Yes...” Merlin admitted. “I think she’s beautiful.”  
  
“She is the only woman I have ever loved,” Arthur said.  
  
Merlin raised both eyebrows _very_ high. “ _Only_?” he asked.  
  
“There has only been Gwen,” Arthur confirmed. Despite himself, Merlin smirked.  
  
“Oh, like you have so much experience,” Arthur scoffed.  
  
“More than you, by the sound of it,” Merlin chuckled.  
  
“I am talking about _love_ ,” Arthur answered brusquely, “Not sordid trysts with ham-fisted tavern wenches.”  
  
“So am I!” Merlin insisted. Arthur pouted at him. “I’ve known love,” Merlin said, more seriously.  
  
“Then have you ever...” Arthur flustered, his cheeks pinking bashfully. “Have you ever had... trouble _being_ with them?”  
  
“You mean _lying?_ ”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
 _“Sleeping?_ ”  
  
“Yes!”  
  
“No!”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
Merlin frowned. “Why?” he asked. “Oooh,” he added quickly, catching up. “You’re having trouble _sleeping_ ,” he said.  
  
Arthur hung his head. “There is just so much pressure. Every day, I’m asked to make decisions that affect the lives of every person in the Kingdom. I send men to battle knowing they may not return. My whole life has been a training exercise on how to govern. My father didn’t consider _love_ a necessary part of my education.”  
  
“And that is why you are a greater king than Uther,” Merlin said. “You don’t _need_ to be taught to love, you just do it. You care about your subjects and, in turn, they care about you.”  
  
“But that’s why I can’t... do it,” Arthur said.  
  
“Because people care about you?”  
  
“Because people _expect_ things from me. Gwen and I have been married for years now. What if we _are_ like my parents? What if the manner of my birth means I _cannot_ father an heir? The longer we go, the harder it is. I’m just so... so... Argh!” Arthur roared, slamming his hand down on Merlin’s mattress in frustration.  
  
Merlin sat and blinked at the outpouring. He had never stopped to think at how Arthur’s fate - largely unknown to the man himself - could weigh on him, and what effect that could have on Arthur’s mind and wellbeing.  
  
“Love should be a thing of pleasure, Arthur,” he said quietly. “What is good for Camelot can also be what is good for you. Putting yourself under this kind of pressure _isn’t_.”  
  
Arthur studied Merlin’s face. Merlin felt his stomach churn nervously at the examination.  
  
“You continue to surprise me, Merlin,” he said softly. “You sound like a man who actually understands matters of the heart.”  
  
“I _do,_ ” promised Merlin. “And I know you, Arthur. I know that this has been hard for you. But you have friends, people who love you. You aren’t alone in this.”  
  
Arthur nodded slowly. “I appreciate that, Merlin,” he said. He seemed to unfurl at the foot of Merlin’s bed, stretching out limbs that had long been held taut. “So,” he said. “How _did_ you get so wise about all this?”  
  
“What?” Merlin said hesitantly.  
  
“Your great loves? Who were they?”  
  
“I, uh...”  
  
Arthur broke into a smile at Merlin’s discomfiture. “Come on, fair’s fair,” he chided. “I told you mine, you tell me yours.”  
  
“It isn’t important...”  
  
“Then it shouldn’t matter if you tell me.”  
  
“There isn’t anyone at the minute,” Merlin said.  
  
“Then tell me about your first love.”  
  
“My... first?”  
  
Arthur’s smile widened. “Yeah,” he said. “Was she a peasant, some comely lass from your village?”  
  
“Uh...”  
  
“A shepherdess who roamed the mountains with her flock, just waiting for a suitor to sing to her?”  
  
“Um...”  
  
“Or did she have...” Arthur made a gesture with his hands cupping under his chest. “A rack like Mollith the fair?”  
  
“No! Nothing like that!” Merlin shifted uncomfortably.  
  
“Tell me.”  
  
“It’s so long ago.”  
  
Arthur launched himself at Merlin, wrestling him flat and pinning him.  
  
“Tell me!”  
  
“It was Will!”  
  
Arthur sat back heavily, balancing, as it happened, on Merlin’s knees.  
  
“Will? As in _William_? You don’t mean ‘Wilhelmina’?”  
  
“No... look...”  
  
“The William from your village, the one who...”  
  
“Died. Yes,” Merlin said. To articulate it so bluntly made his chest ache.  
  
Arthur clambered off his Merlin-shaped perch. “Oh,” he said. “I’m... I’m sorry.”  
  
“It wasn’t... quite what you think. He and I, we knew everything about each other. We were as close as kin. Closer. There was always something... but we were too young for it to make sense. You asked the first person I _loved,_ not the first person I lay with. Well... that was him.”  
  
“I... see,” said Arthur.  
  
Merlin’s bedroom suddenly felt far too small. He was sweating with sheer embarrassment and yet, for some reason, his mouth started moving again. “There have been others,” he found himself saying, “Some were women, the rest...”  
  
Arthur bowed his head thoughtfully. He hadn’t summoned guards yet to have Merlin tried as an abomination and that was something.  
  
Arthur lifted his eyes from the floor to meet Merlin’s gaze. For reasons Merlin could not comprehend, he was smiling.  
  
“So that’s it?” he asked.  
  
“What?” said Merlin hoarsely.  
  
“ _That’s_ your big secret?”  
  
“What?!”  
  
Arthur shook his head with mock despair. “ _Everybody_ knows you have a secret, Merlin. You walk around looking guilty so often that some of the knights even have a book open on why. Some of them...” Arthur chuckled, “thought you had _magic_.”  
  
“ _What_!” started Merlin guiltily.  
  
“See, that’s what I mean,” said Arthur, “you look blameworthy even at the most ridiculous suggestion.” He snorted derisively. “You with _magic_!”  
  
“So you’re not... mad about, uh...”  
  
Arthur plonked himself back down on Merlin’s bed. He flopped an arm carelessly over Merlin’s gathered knees.  
  
“I have been a soldier far too long not to understand that when you trust a man with your life, there is no greater love. That some of my knights act on this love... physically,” Arthur shrugged. “As their commander, it isn’t something I...” he broke from that line of thought. “I would only question it if it altered their loyalties or affected their performance,” he concluded.  
  
“That is... good to know,” swallowed Merlin.  
  
“It explains why Gwaine is so fond of you, I suppose,” Arthur mused.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Oh, nothing,” Arthur said sweetly. “So... what do you want to do tonight?” he asked.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Tonight,” Arthur said. “It’s not late yet.”  
  
“It is _fairly_ late,” Merlin said.  
  
“Not so late that the tavern would be closed,” Arthur suggested.  
  
Merlin held up his hands. “Oh no,” he said. “I am _not_ taking you to the tavern.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“You’re the _King_?” Merlin pointed out. “Everyone will recognise you?”  
  
“Not if I go in disguise,” Arthur said. “I wear a hooded cape, some of your clothes...” He moved to Merlin’s wardrobe and began rummaging. He extracted some samples. “Blue or red?” he asked.  
  
“Um...”  
  
“Blue, you’re right. Red is too obvious.” He stripped his undershirt, exposing his bare chest. Merlin stared at him.  
  
“Get a good look,” Arthur encouraged with a smirk. “C’mon, sleepyhead. Up you get.”  
  
Against his better judgement, Merlin got from his bed and pulled on some clothes. Arthur turned to present himself. “What do you think?” he asked, pulling the hood over his head.  
  
“Very... convincing,” Merlin said without conviction.  
  
“Right, then,” said Arthur. “Let’s go!”  
  
****  
  
 _“Then all of those gathered  
did gasp and did sigh  
And fall to their knees  
as Mollith passed by  
The women from love  
and the men was from lust  
For Mollith the fair  
had a cracking bust!”_  
  
“Wahay!” Arthur clanked his tankard against Merlin’s, sloshing warm mead over both their hands. He giggled drunkenly. A bell rang in the background.  
  
“Last orders,” Merlin explained.  
  
“Nother... ‘nother flagon over here, wench,” Arthur cried.  
  
Merlin kicked him under the table. “You don’t call women who work in taverns ‘wenches’ unless you want them to spit in your mead,” he advised.  
  
“Don’t you think it’s time you took ‘im ‘ome and poured him into bed?” the wench enquired.  
  
“Yes,” Merlin agreed. “C’mon Si... I mean, Sagred.”  
  
Under his hood, Arthur winked bawdily and tapped the end of his nose.  
  
****  
  
Staggering through the streets of the lower city, Merlin and Arthur clung to each other for mutual support. Merlin, despite his reputation, did not spend a lot of time drinking and, as such, found himself a little the worse for wear.  
  
“You know,” began Arthur.  
  
“More than you could possibly imagine,” Merlin replied. He hiccoughed.  
  
“I think,” said Arthur, ignoring him “that I prefer this life to my other.”  
  
“But you’re the _King,_ ” drawled Merlin. “You get to wear shiny armour and give speeches and eat lots of fancy food.”  
  
“Are you calling me fat?” Arthur asked.  
  
“Some people like a man with a bit of meat on him,” Merlin joked.  
  
“Do you?” Arthur asked.  
  
Merlin swallowed. Even the dizzyingly chill night air couldn’t carry that away with it. “Uh, I’ve never thought about it,” he excused.  
  
****  
  
“Shh,” Arthur said in a whisper that echoed through the corridor. “Don’t wanna wake the castle.”  
  
“You’re the one making noise,” Merlin observed.  
  
Arthur tiptoed up to the door to his room. He waited for Merlin to draw level. He signalled Merlin to silence, then gesticulated something that Merlin interpreted as ‘I’ll go first’. Merlin shrugged. Arthur nodded at the door. Merlin looked at the door. Arthur rolled his eyes.  
  
“Open the door,” he hissed.  
  
Merlin opened the door. Arthur burst inside. “Show yourself foul demon!” he yelled, whipping up a candlestick from the table and brandishing it as a sword.  
  
“Be quiet!” yelped Merlin. “You’ll have all the knights in the Kingdom banging on the door if you keep that up.”  
  
Arthur giggled and tossed the candlestick aside. He untethered the cloak and let it waft to the ground. Merlin scooped it up.  
  
“Always picking up after me,” Arthur grumbled.  
  
“Because you are always making a mess of things, your highness.”  
  
“Shh, you’re right,” said Arthur. “When tha’ door’s closed, I’m not ‘your highness’. M’Arthur.”  
  
“Alright,” agreed Merlin. “Arthur.”  
  
Arthur shrugged his way out of Merlin’s over-shirt. Instead of allowing it to fall, he handed it to Merlin. “You’ll probably want this back,” he said.  
  
With a groan and some swaying. Arthur got into his bed. “Eugh, tell the castle to stop spinning,” he grumbled.  
  
“I can’t,” Merlin said, looking down at Arthur. “Did you know this whole orb of Earth is spinning in space, every second of every day and that by its motion come the sun and moon and seasons and tides?”  
  
“Where _did_ you hear such nonsense?” Arthur questioned.  
  
“I read it in one of Gaius’s books.”  
  
Arthur snorted. “Next you’ll be telling me that the druids are right, and that the trees contain spirits.”  
  
Merlin thought about his dreams, of hearing the World alive and aware around him. “Don’t be silly,” he said aloud.  
  
He turned to leave but Arthur caught his trailing hand urgently.  
  
“Merlin,” he said. “If you’ve known love with both men and women, tell me: do you think one is righter than the other?”  
  
Merlin stirred and looked back at him. “No, Arthur. I think love _is_.”  
  
“And you can truly love more than one person?”  
  
“You cannot control a thing as ancient as love,” agreed Merlin.  
  
Arthur fell back against his pillows, allowing Merlin’s hand to fall. “That’s good,” he said sleepily. “Good night, Merlin,” he said. “And I am grateful. _He_ doesn’t tell you it very often, but I know he considers you a good friend.”  
  
Arthur closed his eyes and was asleep.  
  
****  
  
Merlin hurried down the corridor to his own room with a nervous haste. So many things had happened that night that were a terrible idea, but Arthur’s final words were causing Merlin sobering concern: who was _he_? Did Arthur mean himself? The ‘self’ he was during the day? At first it had seemed that the Arthur of the day and the Arthur of the night were separate beings, with only the most general knowledge shared betwixt. Merlin had spoken with the relative security that all would be forgotten come the morning. But if Arthur of the night was remembering the troubles and the feelings of Arthur of the day, could the same in turn be true for the daylight Arthur? Merlin had been so caught up in the excitement of having this private friend, this return to the honesty that the end of childhood robs you of, that he had not stopped to consider _why_ it was happening. It was the potion, no doubt. The comfrey, valerian, lavender and sage could not be to blame, it had to be the moth wing.  
  
Merlin returned to his and Gaius’s apartments and began pulling books off shelves. The Owlet Moth. There _had_ to be something here that would explain what was happening, and why what was at first forgotten seemed to be coming back in hazy remembrance.  
  
He flicked through tome after tome, looking for the creature. As he got to _Aenor’s Bestiary_ , he could feel himself nodding. The dawn came with _Faerie Creatures of Fine Form_. On perusal of _The Taxonomigraphical Classification of Wingéd Beasts_ , Merlin’s forehead hit the page and he began to drool.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur needs a potion to help him sleep, there is only one person he can turn to. But as Gaius is currently off at a physician's moot in Mercia, Merlin will have to suffice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set some time in canon-era future but contains no spoilers (except supposing some form of extended life of Camelot).
> 
> With special thanks to Captain Malcolm Reynolds for some old soldier's wisdom.

“Ugh...” Arthur groaned. “Gwen?”

Gwen pressed a damp cloth to his head. “I’m here, Arthur,” she said, leaning close.

Arthur winced at the sound of her voice. “Gwen... if I die...”

“Shh,” hushed Gwen, tender concern creasing her brow. “You’ll be fine my love.”

She turned to the assembled knights, Leon at their fore, their faces grave. “Someone fetch Merlin,” she said. “The King is sick.”

****

The sound of Royal guards banging at Merlin’s door was not unaccustomed. There were some of the watch who took their jobs _very_ seriously. The urgent rattling and clamouring could herald anything from ‘the King needs his chamber pot changing’ to ‘there is an army of the undead at the castle walls’.

“Ugh,” groaned Merlin. His mouth tasted foulsome, much akin to what it might be like to lick the back of a rancid hog. He lifted his head, the page he was resting on stuck to his cheek. He peeled it off. “What!” he yelled.

“The King is unwell,” barked a guard through the wood. “The Queen commands you attend him!”

Merlin bolted to the door, flinging it open. The guard, six foot nothing of poorly internalised rage, glowered back at him. “What are his symptoms,” Merlin asked.

“Sweating. Nausea. Weakness of the limbs. Headache,” the guard yapped in short succession. Merlin knew the feeling. He threw a few things into his satchel, rubbed his hair into some semblance of a style and headed towards the right royal hangover he knew awaited him.

****

“Merlin,” called Arthur weakly. Gwen stepped aside fretfully as Merlin barrelled into the room.

To be thorough, Merlin checked his patient’s pulse and temperature (rapid and thready; somewhat high), the pallor of his tongue (an unpleasant yellowish colour) and the state of his eyes (unsurprisingly bloodshot).

“What is it?” asked Gwen softly. “It isn’t the plague, is it?”

Merlin shook his head. “No, not the plague,” he assured. “It’s a very common ailment. I’ve seen a case much the same already this morning.”

Gwen sighed with relief. “So you can cure him?”

“Time will cure him, but I can give him something to help.” Carefully he decanted a goblet of a vibrant, red liquid. He mixed a small amount of clear fluid into it and stirred the ingredients with a twig.

“What is it?” Gwen asked, following the process with her eyes.

Merlin held up the twig. “It’s from a willow tree. Its bark is medicinal.”

He passed the goblet to Arthur. “ _Similia similibus curantur_ ,” he said. Arthur went stiff at the incantation. “It’s just a saying,” Merlin assured. “A physician thing.”

Hesitantly, Arthur sipped the mixture. “Eugh,” he assessed.

“Down in one, your highness,” Merlin smirked.

“Arthur,” Arthur grumbled, knocking back the remaining preparation in a single swallow.

****

“I have to admit,” said Arthur buoyantly from behind his dressing screen, “you do have some uses.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” Merlin said. He stirred the bathwater he had been preparing, mixing the hot and the cold. He added a few drops of scented oil.

“Really! I feel much better now. It’s almost miraculous.”

“Yes, Sire,” Merlin agreed.

“Is there something wrong?” Arthur asked.

Merlin grimaced, staring into the clouded water. “No.”

“Then you might want to step aside before you fall in.”

Merlin’s head snapped up. “What?” he said. “What!” he repeated as he saw that Arthur had emerged in no more than the skin he was born in.

“Get a good look,” Arthur smirked. He blinked. He put his hand to his head as if momentarily dizzy. Merlin was torn between steadying him and the fact that Arthur was naked. “Ooo, that’s strange,” Arthur said.

“It’s just an effect of the potion,” Merlin half-lied.

Arthur frowned. “You have that look on your face again,” he observed.

Merlin unpinched his features. He stepped aside to allow Arthur access to his bath. It wasn’t that it was uncommon for him to draw Arthur’s bath, nor to assist him once he was in it, but there was usually a coy little interlude where Arthur would be behind his screen, Merlin would go to fetch clean towels and when he returned, Arthur would be submerged to chest height. There was not usually a brazen moment of public display of the crown jewels and particularly not a tongue-in-cheek invite for Merlin to peruse them.

Arthur slid into the water, seemingly oblivious to Merlin’s discomfort.

“Do you need me to help you?” Merlin offered half-heartedly, rather assuming he knew the answer.

“No,” said Arthur. “But you could stay and... talk to me, if you liked.”

“Um, yeah...” said Merlin, taken aback, “Of course.” He stood, awkwardly, waiting for Arthur to speak.

“Sit down, you’re making the nervous,” Arthur said.

Merlin crossed to the table. Hesitantly, he pulled out one of the heavy chairs.

“Not over there,” grumbled Arthur. “I can’t see you. I know conversing with you can be a bit like talking to a wall but I’d rather at least pretend otherwise.”

Merlin scanned the room. The only place that offered a view of the bath and offered somewhere to sit was the bed. He went to the foot of it and perched uncomfortably on it.

“I have been thinking...” said Arthur, when Merlin was semi-settled.

“Did it hurt?” Merlin said before he could censor himself. His own hangover ached through him but he had not managed to sneak a quiet moment in order to fix himself a quick draught of _capella canis._

“I _had_ been thinking,” Arthur corrected, levelling his loofah at Merlin, “what a good job Gaius has done training you in the physical sciences.”

“Um... thanks?” Merlin said.

“He is like a father to you, is he not?”

“Yes,” Merlin admitted. “Gaius took me in; has fed me, clothed me and been kind to me when he didn’t have to be. Yes, he is like a father to me.”

Arthur nodded. “It is right and proper that a father pass his skills to his son and, in turn, the son comes to use them.”

“What are you getting at, Arthur?” Merlin said.

“Gaius is old, Merlin,” sighed Arthur. “And, while he is capable, he should not be spending every moment of his latter years in service to the crown. When he returns, I was intending... I was hoping to encourage him to accept you as his colleague rather than his apprentice. If that’s... what you would want also?”

“Arthur, I...” Merlin swallowed. This throat was tight.

Arthur splashed in his bath. “You don’t have to answer straight away. Gaius isn’t back until tomorrow, is he?”

“No, Sire...”

“Very good, then,” said Arthur. He immersed himself, resurfacing a moment later. “What, no thank you?”

“Th... thank you,” Merlin stammered. “But... can I ask...” He licked his lips. “What brought about this decision?”

Arthur frowned. With his wet fringe in his eyes, he looked like a part-drown puppy. “I’m not... quite sure,” he said slowly. “Something that Guinevere said, I think.”

“Well... I’m grateful. To both of you,” Merlin said. A slow smile spread onto his face.

“I wouldn’t look too pleased,” he said. “Your first duty is to ride to Fort Ardwich. Their commander was thrown from his horse and his injuries need tending. I want you and Gwaine to go there and ensure he is made comfortable.”

“Gwaine?” Merlin asked suspiciously.

“You’re no soldier, Merlin. The roads still have their bandits. You need a good man at your side.”

Merlin shifted uncomfortably on the bed. On any other day, he would not have questioned the order. After the events of the previous evening, however...

“I expect you back by nightfall,” Arthur intruded on Merlin’s musings.

“Nightfall?” Merlin said. “But Ardwich is more than three dozen miles away...”

“Then you’d best not tarry, had you?”

Merlin blinked at Arthur. “No, I...” He stood. “I’d better get going.”

“Yes,” agreed Arthur. Suddenly, he hurled a wet flannel in Merlin’s direction. “But have a wash first. Your face is covered with ink.”

****

Arthur rapped at the door to the guest apartments he had been told Guinevere was staying in.

“Who is it?” Gwen called.

“Arthur,” Arthur replied. “May I come in?”

The door opened. Gwen stepped back to allow him passage. He closed the door behind him.

“I came to say... I mean, I wish to say...” Arthur began. “Oh, I nearly forgot...”

He pulled a single white rose from under his jacket. He held it out for her.

Her face moved from frown to faint smile. She took the rose. “You were saying?” she prompted.

“I uh, yes,” said Arthur. “I wanted to explain why... I mean to justify my... Um...”

Gwen tilted her head and examined him as if over the rim of some large vessel. Her smile twitched towards that of a smirk.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur concluded.

“Apology accepted,” she said. She waited. “Are you going to kiss me?” she asked at length.

“Oh!” Arthur said. He had expected it to take somewhat longer than that to win Gwen back over. Since Merlin’s departure he had been honing his reasons for his recent distance - the honest reasons - and why they no longer mattered. He had even written a poem entitled ‘ _love is’_ in honour of Gwen’s beauty.

It was probably better just to kiss her than to try and recite it.

****

The guards in the hallway looked at each other nervously as giggles floated out of the guest chambers. Without a word, they moved further along the corridor; close enough that they could still observe the door and protect it from any intruders, but far enough away so that they didn’t feel like they were intruding themselves.

“The King gets Queen Guinevere and I get you,” one of the guards - a tell fellow with his helmet pulled low to his eyes - grumbled.

The other guard, somewhat shorter and a little rotund, “Yeah, but I’ve got one thing the Queen ‘ant got,” he said. He twitched his eyebrows at his companion.

“Yeah,” agreed the first guard. “A complete and unabridged knowledge of the tale of Mollith the Fair.”

****

“And they were all dressed in white, holding hands, skipping around this shield,” Gwaine said. They had been riding for just over two hours and he had barely come up for air.

“That’s very interesting,” Merlin mumbled.

“But I haven’t told you what they were doing to it, yet. They were all...”

“Are you fond of me, Gwaine?” asked Merlin abruptly.

Even Gwaine’s horse skittered at the question. He steadied it straight and then turned to look at Merlin. “Excuse me?” he said.

“I just wondered, of all the knights, I always considered you a friend first and soldier second.”

“Ah, well, yes,” agreed Gwaine. “Put like that; you’re a fine man, Merlin. There aren’t many like you who would stand in the face of danger or be so willing to give their life for a noble.”

“Like me?” Merlin said.

“Well, you know.”

“I know what?” pressed Merlin.

“A _servant,”_ Gwaine conceded. “Now, I don’t mean it like that,” he corrected to Merlin’s bristle. “We all serve one way or another. But not everyone would leap in the way of harm as you do. Normally, it’s only those of us dense enough to be soldiers that do it. You ride into battle with barely a shirt on your back. It’s like you think nothing can harm you.”

“Nothing can,” Merlin said. He pressed his lips together. _‘Nothing can harm me more than failing Arthur’_ he concluded mentally.

“That’s rubbish, Merlin,” Gwaine replied to Merlin’s abbreviated statement. “Any moment could be your last. That’s the nature of fate.”

“You believe in fate?” Merlin asked.

“I’d be a pretty poor soldier if I didn’t,” sniffed Gwaine. “Every soldier knows that, out there, someone is carrying an arrow with your name on it. Or a sword. Or an axe. You can either sit at home and wait for the blow to land, or you can ride out: maybe that day it’ll find you or maybe you’ll miss it. But one way or another it will come for you in the end.”

“And until it does?” Merlin asked.

Gwaine smiled. “Well, you sing and you drink and you do all the other things that the legends will never say of you.”

Merlin laughed.

“But to answer your question,” Gwaine said more seriously. “Yes, I am fond of you, Merlin. And I’m proud to have stood at your side and call you friend. And...” Gwaine swallowed, “if you are asking of more than friendship then... know that I would gladly take the blow with your name on it if it spared you.”

“Gwaine, I...”

Gwaine drew his horse to a halt at a clearing in the hillside. He pointed to a keep in the valley below, surrounded to three sides by water that shone like silver in the grey Autumn light. “Fort Ardwich,” he said. “We can be there within the hour if we hurry.”

He broke into a canter, forcing Merlin to spur his smaller horse to keep up.

****

“Your mission was a success?” Arthur asked. He smiled as Gwen passed him a honeyed plum to eat.

“Yes, Arthur, Merlin reported. “Ser Avraegard’s injuries were not severe. I splinted his leg and prescribed him an unguent for his cuts.”

“That’s good. He’s a brave man, Ser Avraegard. He was a trusted knight to my father.”

“He speaks of your father fondly,” Merlin agreed.

“Hmm,” said Arthur. It was no secret that Avraegard disagreed with some of Arthur’s relaxations of the Knight’s Code. But he was a loyal supporter of House Pendragon, part of the army that Uther had wielded to take Camelot, and Arthur owed him a great deal.

Gwen ruffled her fingers through Arthur’s hair. “I’m going to get changed,” she said. She kissed his cheek and retired behind the dressing screen.

Merlin plonked himself onto a chair beside Arthur. “Things seem better between you,” he whispered.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “And who said they weren’t?”

“I, uh...” Merlin was caught in a confused dusk between the Arthur of the day and Arthur of the night. “Well, she didn’t sleep here last night so I just assumed...”

“Well don’t,” Arthur interrupted. He leaned in. “But you’re right. Gwen and I were having some... difficulties. They are resolved now and I suppose you played some part in that.”

“Me?” said Merlin.

“Well, it was your sleeping potion that allowed me to see clearly what was important.”

“Oh, right,” Merlin replied. “So... you don’t want it anymore?” he asked.

“How many draughts are left?” Arthur enquired.

Merlin fumbled in his satchel and withdrew the two remaining vials. The flashed in his hand as a sconce reflected on the glass.

“Gaius always told me that I should finish a course of medicine to ensure the complaint did not reoccur,” Arthur said.

Merlin exhaled, he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding his breath.

Arthur took one vial from him and slipped it into the pocket of his gambeson. “I will take it later,” he said.

Gwen appeared from behind the screen. She was dressed in pure white silk with a trim of ermine fur.

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Right, so...” he pointed behind him to the door, “I’ll be off then.”

“Don’t forget what we discussed,” Arthur said, his eyes straying from Merlin’s. “We will speak of it further tomorrow.”

“See you later, Arthur,” Merlin said. He bowed, taking his leave of them both.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur needs a potion to help him sleep, there is only one person he can turn to. But as Gaius is currently off at a physician's moot in Mercia, Merlin will have to suffice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set some time in canon-era future but contains no spoilers (except supposing some form of extended life of Camelot).

He wasn’t coming. Merlin should have known. Whatever it was that was bringing Arthur from his bed to Merlin’s room in the dead of the night resolved when he and Gwen made amends.  
  
That was the way it was, the way it had to be. What else were friends for?  
  
Merlin turned over heavily in his bed. He had finished his search through Gaius’s tomes for mention of the Great Owlet Moth some time before. There was nothing. Nothing! How could Gaius have something on his shelf that didn’t exist in _any_ book? He wished he’d never found the godforsaken stuff. Without it, he wouldn’t be tied in knots of his own tangled bedding, damning himself for still being awake at this silly time of the night.  
  
He jumped as he heard rattling in the darkened apothecary. Someone spilled some jars with a thump and a tinkle, and cursed vigorously at it. Merlin wriggled his way out of his bedding and got to his feet. “Arthur?” he called. His door cracked about six inches wide.  
  
Arthur’s head poked through. “You’re still awake?” he asked with a grin. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him.  
  
“I couldn’t sleep,” Merlin excused.  
  
“I know someone that has something for that,” Arthur smirked.  
  
“No, no,” Merlin said. “It’s nothing.”  
  
Arthur clapped his hands together excitedly. “Right then, what are we going to do tonight then?”  
  
“I don’t know,” said Merlin. “What would you like to do?”  
  
Arthur frowned a deep, thoughtful frown. His face adopted an expression of endearing puzzlement. Suddenly his brows lifted and his eyes lighted up. “I know the perfect thing.”  
  
****  
  
“Is it... much further...” panted Merlin, following Arthur up yet another tight, dark, spiral staircase. It seemed like they had been climbing forever. “Eugh,” he said as trailing moss and broken cobwebs smacked him in the face. “Don’t you have an army of cleaning staff?” he grumbled.  
  
“They don’t come here,” said Arthur from ahead. “No-one comes here.”  
  
“Except us.”  
  
“Except us,” agreed Arthur.  
  
“ _Except us_ ,” echoed Merlin grumpily under his breath.  
  
Without warning, Arthur stopped. Merlin banged into the back of him or, more precisely, the rear.  
  
“Easy there, Merlin,” Arthur cautioned. Merlin heard the sound of scrabbling. “I know it’s here somewhere,” Arthur muttered.  
  
“What are you looking for?” Merlin asked.  
  
“Ah! Found it!” Arthur said. Suddenly cold, fresh air spilled in to the enclosed space. Merlin saw a flash of sky above. Arthur was wriggling into the space, his legs kicking, trying to get purchase against the damp stones.  
  
“I’m sure this thing... used to be larger,” Arthur huffed.  
  
The sky reappeared as Arthur disappeared into it.  
  
“Maybe you used to be smaller?” Merlin shouted through the hole.  
  
Arthur’s head and torso appeared. “I was going to help you up, but you can make your own way now,” he said.  
  
Merlin rolled his eyes. He braced himself between the walls, pushing himself upwards. His stretching fingers met straw and solid wood. He levered his body to drag himself through the hole. A hand grasped his arm. He looked up. Arthur smiled and hauled him up and out into the night.  
  
Climbing to his feet, Merlin experienced a terrifying flutter run through him. The cold air made his head spin or, if it was not that, it was the view.  
  
He and Arthur stood on a narrow platform of creaking wood, bolstered to the very top of the highest point of the castle of Camelot. The vapour of thin cloud clung to his eyelashes and the lights of the whole town twinkled below. “What is this place?” he gasped.  
  
“This, Merlin,” Arthur said grandly, “Is twr-y-ddraig. It is said that the Dragon Lords of the Kings of Old would come here to summon the beasts, to commune with them, to honour them, and to learn great wisdom from them. My father had this whole tower blocked off after the capture of the final dragon. To come here was punishable by death.”  
  
“But you defied him?”  
  
Arthur laughed. “No,” he said. “Morgana did. When we were children. Long before...” He trailed off. “Father knew she kept sneaking off somewhere so he told me to follow her. One night, I found her dodging between shadows and I saw it as my chance to make Uther proud. I was seven, maybe eight, and the tower was terrifying; dark, cold, full of monsters. The stairs seemed to stretch into eternity. I was just about to go back when I saw a crack in the ceiling and smelled fresh air. I called up, I told Morgana that father would be angry - that he’d punish us _both_ unless she came down straight away.”  
  
“I’m guessing she didn’t come down.”  
  
Arthur chuckled and clapped his hand to Merlin’s back. He left it there. Merlin was glad of the warmth. “You guess right,” he said. “After a while, once she realised I wasn’t going away, she leant down and helped me up. I saw for the first time what you’re seeing now. All of Camelot, all of the _world_ stretched out before me and the heavens above. I clung to Morgana, petrified that I might fall off or up. And do you know what she said to me?”  
  
Merlin could only shake his head.  
  
“She asked me if I could hear the stars singing.”  
  
Merlin looked up. The sky was indigo pierced with stars uncountable. The moon hung, huge and beautiful as an alabaster marble. It looked so close he could... almost touch it.  
  
Something brushed his fingers; his palm. It was Arthur. Merlin could only watch as Arthur took his hand and laid it to his cheek. He felt his own pulse jump, replied a split-second later by Arthur’s blood pounding through the vein in his jaw. Merlin turned in, realising how close their bodies were pressed. Their steaming breaths mingled in the air.  
  
“Arthur,” Merlin began. He was silenced as Arthur’s lips met his.  
  
Arthur did not kiss like Merlin might have supposed. He would have expected it to be tongues and teeth and rivalry. This was soft, chaste almost. It felt like he wanted Merlin to take control.  
  
“We can’t,” whispered Merlin. He pulled back. “We _can’t_.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Merlin swallowed. _Oh God, why_ , his body keened. “Because we’re friends. Because _Gwen_ and I are friends.”  
  
Arthur’s eyes dropped. “I... I know, but... I thought...”  
  
“I couldn’t do it to her.”  
  
Arthur nodded. “You’re right,” he said. He stepped back. His eyes went wide. “Merlin!” he yelped.  
  
For a frozen second, Merlin didn’t know what had happened, but then Arthur began to tumble, falling backwards from the platform. Merlin tried to catch him, grabbing only air. He could hear Arthur clattering on the broken tiles of the sloping roof, skidding along them to the impending precipice. Without thinking, he stretched out his hand.  
  
 _“Enlaevar_ ,” he hissed, clenching his fist.  
  
The clattering stopped. He rushed to the edge of the platform and looked down, his heart so loud in his ears that it drowned out even the chanting stars.  
  
“Arthur!” he called.  
  
Arthur was hanging, unsuspended, just beyond the gutter of the roof. His face was as white as the moon above; he stared at Merlin with wild eyes.  
  
“You have magic!” he squawked. “Merlin! You have magic!”  
  
“Hold on, Arthur,” Merlin replied.  
  
“Hold on? Hold on to what! There’s nothing to hold on _to_!” He sounded close to hysteria.  
  
Merlin unstrapped the loops of leather he used as a belt. He eased himself off the edge of the platform, one foot to the uneven roof. He threw his belt in Arthurs direction. It missed by half a foot. He cursed. He inched his way further onto the roof, drawing his belt back and recasting it. He felt the catch and tug. He pulled, hauling Arthur back onto the roof and secured him as he crawled back up to the platform. His muscles shook with fear and effort; Arthur was no featherweight but there was no telling what he would do once he was recovered. Only when Arthur flopped, panting and breathless, onto the relative solidity of the wood, did Merlin collapse onto it himself.  
  
Arthur scrambled to his knees. He stared at Merlin, wide-eyed. There was fright in them, some hurt; mostly confusion. Merlin huddled in on himself, shaking from the exertion and the cold night air freezing the sweat on his back.  
  
“Why...” Arthur gasped.  
  
“Arthur...”  
  
“Why didn’t you just fly me back up here!” Arthur demanded.  
  
Merlin’s backside hit the wood, thumping him on his rear with surprise. “What?” he said.  
  
“If you have magic, didn’t you just float me to safety? Why did you risk _both_ our lives?!”  
  
Merlin blinked. He shivered. “I didn’t... I didn’t think of that,” he admitted.  
  
They sat and stared at each other for a long while, slowly relaxing their suspicious poses; akin to warring tomcats coming to some unspoken agreement.  
  
“You didn’t,” said Arthur at length, “think of that.”  
  
“Um... no,” admitted Merlin.  
  
“Merlin?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“You’re an idiot.”  
  
Nervous relief forced a broken laugh from Merlin.  
  
Arthur climbed to his feet. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go back down.”  
  
Merlin nodded and allowed Arthur to lead him back to his and Gaius’s rooms.  
  
****  
  
“So, how long...” Arthur blew on his steaming cup of dandelion and burdock root. “Have you been like this?”  
  
Merlin frowned, warming his hands on his own pot. “It’s not a disease, Arthur. I was born this way.”  
  
“And you came to Camelot?” Arthur gawped. “The one land where magic is explicitly outlawed and punishable by death.”  
  
“Your father really did like his death sentences,” Merlin muttered.  
  
Arthur raised his eyebrow. “I am not my father,” he said.  
  
Merlin looked up, focussing on Arthur’s eyes. “No,” he said. “But the law still stands.”  
  
“Yes,” Arthur agreed thoughtfully.  
  
“By your own rules, I should be dead.”  
  
“They are my father’s rules!”  
  
“That you uphold.”  
  
“That were put in place to _protect_ Camelot...” corrected Arthur.  
  
“But I’m not a threat?” Merlin countered.  
  
“No!” said Arthur. “I _know_ you. You would never use your magic for harm.”  
  
“But the dozens, _hundreds,_ of men, women and children your father had put to the flames or flood would?”  
  
“I didn’t... know them.”  
  
“For every sorcerer who uses their gift for evil, ten - maybe a hundred - would use it for good. Or never use it at all. You would condemn them all because _you don’t know them_?” Merlin’s eyes flashed, but remained blue.  
  
Arthur fell silent. He drummed his fingers on the roughly thrown pot. “You have given me a lot to think about,” he said. He sighed. “So I’m guessing _this_ is the big secret then, rather than the... you know.”  
  
Merlin nodded. “I’m not likely to go around singing about either, am I?”  
  
“I suppose not,” Arthur agreed. He smiled sanguinely at Merlin. “But this is everything, isn’t it?” he said. “Because I’m not sure how many more surprises I can take.”  
  
“Yes,” agreed Merlin hurriedly. “That’s everything. Well...” he said, “except that I’m a Dragon Lord.”  
  
“A Dragon Lord!”  
  
“Shh!” Merlin almost laughed; at Arthur, at himself.  
  
“You are a very unique man,” Arthur said.  
  
“You aren’t the first to say it,” replied Merlin.  
  
Arthur stood. He left his half-drunk pot on the table. “I think I should go back to bed. He has a long day of being bowed to ahead of him.” Arthur reached the door. He turned back and fidgeted. “About before...” he said.  
  
Merlin shrugged. “Saving your life is just what I do,” he dismissed.  
  
Arthur scrubbed his palms on his breeches. “I didn’t mean that. I meant...”  
  
“Oh, right.”  
  
“Thank you for not ridiculing me.”  
  
“I would never ridicule you, Arthur,” Merlin promised. “Well, not about that.”  
  
“He thinks about you sometimes,” Arthur said quietly. “When he closes his eyes. He cares about you, Merlin. We care about you.”  
  
“I care about you too.”  
  
Arthur smiled wanly. “He wonders if the choices he has made have been for the best.”  
  
Merlin’s throat was tight. He blinked, his eyes stung. “I think they have,” he said.  
  
“For Camelot?”  
  
“For Camelot,” Merlin agreed.  
  
Arthur sighed and left the room.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur needs a potion to help him sleep, there is only one person he can turn to. But as Gaius is currently off at a physician's moot in Mercia, Merlin will have to suffice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set some time in canon-era future but contains no spoilers (except supposing some form of extended life of Camelot).

“Merlin! _Merlin_!” Gaius pottered about the benches of his room, straightening and tidying. He collected two mugs from the dinner table and sniffed them - dandelion and burdock. Nothing too unusual there, although two mugs meant a visitor and Gaius had learned never to make assumptions where Merlin’s capacity for trouble was in question.  
  
“Merlin!” he shouted.  
  
“What?!” Merlin’s door flew open, he stood dishevelled in the portal. “Oh, Gaius. It’s you,” he said.  
  
“It’s good to see you, Gaius,” Gaius mimicked. “I hope you had a safe trip. Do sit down, you must be fatigued...”  
  
“I’m sorry, Gaius,” Merlin said. He moved to Gaius’s side, helped the older man to a seat. “Are you well?”  
  
Gaius smiled. “I’m well, Merlin, thank you,” he confirmed. “How’re you?”  
  
“Was your meeting interesting?” Merlin replied.  
  
“Oh yes, very profitable,” he said, suspicion growing in him. “We discussed at great length the merits of physiognomy.”  
  
“What’s physiognomy?” Merlin asked.  
  
“It is the study of the features,” Gaius explained. “And what that reveals of a person’s character. You for example,” he said, “have the facial forms that indicate... a guilty conscience.”  
  
“Me?” Merlin said all-too-innocently.  
  
Gaius smiled thinly. “What has been happening while I’ve been away?” he asked.  
  
Merlin shrugged. “Oh, not much,” he said.  
  
“And now they indicate you’re lying,” Gaius stated.  
  
“Well, Arthur was having a little trouble sleeping so I prescribed him a sleeping draught.”  
  
“Of?” Gaius enquired.  
  
“The usual,” Merlin said quickly. “Comfrey, valerian. A few other bits and bobs.”  
  
Gaius nodded. “Such as?”  
  
“Lavender, sage. The scales from the wing of the great owlet moth.”  
  
“What!” Gaius sprang to his feet in a way that few men of his age could achieve.  
  
Merlin’s ears were red. “Just a little bit. I just wanted Arthur to think I knew what I was doing.”  
  
Gaius scowled at him.  
  
“I looked in all the books. None of them said it was harmful. In fact, none of them mentioned it at all.”  
  
“That’s because,” Gaius said sternly, “it is generally known under another name. The White Witch moth.”  
  
“So why did you label it as the Owlet moth?!”  
  
“Because I can hardly leave things lying around here with the word ‘witch’ on them, can I?” Gaius snapped. “It is _magical,_ Merlin,” he said. “Or at least, it is when improperly handled. The light activates it, as it does all moths.”  
  
“I didn’t know,” said Merlin. “Although it explains...”  
  
“Explains what?” Gaius said.  
  
Merlin stared at the floor.  
  
Gaius sighed. “Tell me everything,” he said.  
  
****  
  
Merlin told Gaius enough, if not everything. More than he meant to in honesty, as Gaius sat, nodding gently in encouragement as Merlin recounted the events of the last few days. He told him about Arthur’s insomnia - although he left out why - he explained how Arthur would turn up in his room a few hours after taking the medicine - but not what they did. He voiced his concerns that Arthur’s memories, which had at first been separate, seemed increasingly to leak between day and night.  
  
“I’m not surprised,” said Gaius. “The White Witch moth has another use, beyond that of a sleeping agent.”  
  
“Oh?” asked Merlin.  
  
“Yes,” said Gaius. “It is used as a memory loss aide. But it has a curious drawback. It can only be used once or maybe twice on one subject before its potency begins to wane. Eventually, it becomes useless and _all_ of the memories are revealed to the individual.”  
  
“Oh,” said Merlin weakly.  
  
Gaius raised his eyebrow. “How many draughts have you given him?”  
  
Merlin fidgeted uncomfortably. “Four...” he said quietly.  
  
“Four!” exclaimed Gaius. He shook his head despairingly. “Still, no real harm has been done, has it?” he sighed.  
  
Merlin tried to find somewhere to look but Gaius’s face.  
  
“Has. It.” Gaius repeated.  
  
“I might have, a little bit, revealed I have magic to him.”  
  
“What!” Gaius cried. The sound of startled birds taking to the air beat through the room from the small window. “Merlin! How many times must I caution you that this is a secret you _cannot_ tell Arthur!”  
  
“But he was okay with it!” defended Merlin. “I used it to save his life and he saw the _good_ that magic can do.”  
  
“You have shown yourself to a _part_ of Arthur, the part that usually only comes out when he is sleeping. You cannot know how Arthur himself will react.”  
  
“He is my friend.”  
  
“He is also the _King,_ ” Gaius said. “What if he does, suddenly, decide magic has a place in Camelot? Do you think people will not wonder _where_ such a decision has come from?”  
  
“They know Arthur is a just man.”  
  
“Magic is still feared by many,” Gaius explained, “and for good cause. Terrible things were done on both sides during the Great Purge. Some will question Arthur’s change of heart, others might even suggest it is the work of sorcery itself. And if they go looking, what will they find?”  
  
Merlin did not reply.  
  
“You,” Gaius concluded on his behalf. “Your potion. Your magic. Your _treason_.”  
  
“I haven’t committed treason.”  
  
“Do you honestly think that there are none amongst the court who will call it that?”  
  
“Arthur wouldn’t allow it.”  
  
“Arthur must obey the laws of Camelot the same as anyone. He couldn’t ignore it; people would say he was playing favourites, that he was weak. His enemies would seize the opportunity to undermine him.”  
  
Merlin groaned. “What can I do?” he said.  
  
Gaius drummed his fingers on the table. “First,” he said, “you must not give him any more of the activated potion. You must avoid rousing the memories from the last few nights.”  
  
“Okay...” Merlin agreed.  
  
“Instead, you must give him a concentrated draught of the inactivated preparation. I will mix it myself to avoid any mistakes. Such a dose _should_ overcome any tolerance he has built, entirely blanking his mind of everything that has taken place.”  
  
“Everything?” Merlin asked.  
  
“Anything and everything that he has been told, seen or done while under the influence of the potion.”  
  
Merlin’s stomach clenched, he felt the loss as if it had already happened. “But _good_ has come out of this Gaius. Arthur is a better man. I swear, I will never tell him what happened, I’ll never mention it again. I’ll not give him the last of the potion but _please_ don’t ask me to destroy what I’ve done here.”  
  
“I’m sorry Merlin, it’s just too dangerous.”  
  
“Shouldn’t _I_ get to make that choice?”  
  
“And what about Arthur? You’d risk his authority because of how you feel?”  
  
“I... well...” Merlin stammered.  
  
“You are _saving_ him, Merlin. Like you have before, as you will do again. As is your destiny.”  
  
Merlin clenched his fist so hard that his short nails bit into his palm, he felt the skin break, the blood flow. “I’ve saved him for Uther, I’ve saved him for Gwen. I’ve saved him for Camelot and Albion. Why can’t I, just once, save him for me?” Tears of frustration welled in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks.  
  
“I’m sorry, Merlin,” said Gaius. He moved to Merlin’s side and gathered him into an embrace. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
****  
  
“Ah, Merlin, you join us at last,” Arthur greeted sardonically. He gestured to the table laid before him: apparently by members of staff other than his manservant. He and Gwen were seated at it, her hand in his, apparently preparing to luncheon.  
  
“Sorry, Sire. I think I might be...” Merlin coughed dramatically. “Coming down with something.”  
  
“Are you okay?” asked Gwen with concern.  
  
“Yes, I’m...” he gave them another cough for effect. “Fine.”  
  
“Good. We don’t want you falling ill before...” Arthur stopped. “Falling,” he repeated, his voice far away.  
  
Merlin chewed his lip.  
  
“Before Arthur can name you co-physician to the Court,” Gwen finished with pride. She glanced at her husband.  
  
“Are _you_ alright, Arthur?” she asked.  
  
“Hmm?” he said. “Yes... yes. I was just remembering a dream I had. I was falling...”  
  
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that Sire,” said Merlin flippantly. “I dream about all sorts of things. Falling. Flying. I once dreamt I had a pie that could talk.”  
  
“He’s been spending too much time with Gwaine,” Gwen smirked.  
  
“Or not enough,” Arthur replied. “Those two are well suited to each other’s company.”  
  
Gwen nudged Arthur, a wry and knowing smile in her eyes.  
  
“Has Gaius returned?” asked Arthur, changing the topic.  
  
“Um, yes, Sire,” Merlin replied. “But he sent me to beg a further day’s leave in order to straighten his affairs. You know how it is when you’ve been away for a few days. You come back and there’s a stack of letters to answer, nothing’s where you left it and all your quills have been stolen.” Merlin attempted to project a winning smile.  
  
“Very well,” said Arthur, “There’s nothing in particular I need him for today. You can bring me the last of my medicine tonight, can’t you?”  
  
“Um, yes,” agreed Merlin reluctantly.  
  
“You know, I will be quite sad when you have finished this course of potion. You didn’t even wake me up with your snoring last night,” Gwen said.  
  
“I don’t snore,” Arthur pouted.  
  
“You snore a bit,” Merlin countered.  
  
“That will be all _Merlin,_ ” Arthur replied.  
  
****  
  
Merlin sat on his narrow bed, of which he had seen far too little over the previous few days. In his right hand he held the frail vial of faintly glittering potion, in his left was the dark, impenetrable glass of Gaius’s preparation.  
  
The room had grown dark as he deliberated, and still he did not know what to do. He knew what he _wanted_ to do and he knew what he _should_ do but, as so many times before those two things seemed diametrically opposed.  
  
Gaius called softly to him. “Merlin, it’s time.”  
  
Merlin sighed and stood. He tucked both vials into his satchel. He passed into the larger, brightly lit apothecary. Flames danced in sconces on the wall, the fire pit over which Gaius had cooked their dinner still smouldered. Merlin felt cold.  
  
“Do you have it?” Gaius asked.  
  
Merlin patted his satchel. It wasn’t a lie if he didn’t say it aloud. He nodded to Gaius. “I won’t be long,” he said.  
  
****  
  
The walk through the castle faded to haze and, before he knew it, Merlin’s feet had brought him to the Royal apartments. The guards at the door nodded to him, their maille glittered with a blue sheen as the moon flooded the corridor.  
  
Merlin knocked.  
  
“Come in!”  
  
He obeyed.  
  
The room was empty. Merlin frowned.  
  
Arthur stepped from behind the dressing screen. He was attired for bed.  
  
“Merlin,” he greeted.  
  
“Where’s Gwen?” Merlin asked. “You two haven’t... fallen out again, have you?”  
  
Arthur smiled a distant, gentle smile; a lover’s smile. “No, nothing like that. She wanted to visit with her old friends in Leon’s household. One of the girls is to be wed, so they are having a quiet night of reminiscing and pondering the nature of womanhood.”  
  
“You mean they are having a maiden’s festival and will be drinking wine and laughing at men folk?”  
  
Arthur chuckled wryly. “Yes, most probably that,” he said. “In either case, she will be staying there tonight.”  
  
He moved to the table; poured a goblet of wine. He poured a second one. Merlin bit his lip.  
  
“I’m not handing it to you,” Arthur said.  
  
Merlin took his wine.  
  
“There’s something troubling you, Merlin,” Arthur said as Merlin sipped his wine. “I can see it by your face.”  
  
“Suddenly everyone’s a physiognomist,” Merlin grumbled.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Nothing, Sire. Everything’s fine,” Merlin lied.  
  
Arthur shook his head. “Have it your way,” he said. “Have you got my potion?”  
  
“Well, yes... but...”  
  
“But what?”  
  
Merlin swallowed. “Why are you so intent on taking it? I mixed it to help you sleep, but you haven’t reported that problem for these past few days.”  
  
“That’s true,” Arthur said with a small frown. “But, since I started taking it I’ve felt... better. Like I can breathe better, see better. Just... better.”  
  
“Ah,” said Merlin. His stomach churned.  
  
Arthur looked at him.  
  
He looked at Arthur.  
  
“Are you going to give it to me?” he said.  
  
“Maybe we should get you to bed first,” Merlin excused.  
  
“Oh very well,” Arthur grumbled. He got onto his bed, leaving Merlin to raise the sheets over him.  
  
The time had come - there could be no more avoiding it. Merlin extracted both vials from the bag, unable to judge one from the other in the dark confines of his satchel. He palmed one and passed the other to Arthur. He followed the action of Arthur uncorking it intently. Arthur raised it to his mouth.  
  
“Is there something different about this draught?” he said, pausing with the vial pressed to his lip.  
  
“Why would you say that?” Merlin replied.  
  
“Because you never seemed this interested in how I took it before.”  
  
Merlin’s eyes trailed away. He clenched his fingers, feeling the cold, hard press of glass between them. “Just take it,” he whispered. “Please.”  
  
Arthur knocked back the potion. He handed the empty vial to Merlin and settled back against the sheets.  
  
Merlin went to leave. Arthur caught him.  
  
“Stay with me,” he asked quietly.  
  
Merlin wet his lips, his heart raced. “Why?” he croaked.  
  
Arthur’s eyes drifted closed. His mouth worked silently for a moment before the words formed. “In case I wake up,” murmured.  
  
Merlin sighed. He took a chair from the table and brought it to beside Arthur’s bed. By the time he had done it, Arthur was fully asleep. He sat down. He looked at Arthur. He put the two vials onto the bedside table.  
  
One was black and full, the other clear and empty.  
  
Merlin buried his head in his hands and waited.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur needs a potion to help him sleep, there is only one person he can turn to. But as Gaius is currently off at a physician's moot in Mercia, Merlin will have to suffice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set some time in canon-era future but contains no spoilers (except supposing some form of extended life of Camelot).

Arthur’s leg twitched. He made a strange noise, a little bit like a whimper.  
  
Merlin looked up. He had never stood vigil over his friend when he was sleeping normally to know what Arthur’s normal sleeping looked like.  
  
Arthur’s eyes opened. Merlin guessed that wasn’t normal.  
  
He stared blankly up at the tapestry strung above his bed. He whimpered again. His mouth moved. He groped with his hand. Merlin took his hand and squeezed it. “I’m here,” he whispered.  
  
Arthur turned his head. He licked his lips. “I knew you would be,” he said in gravelly tones.  
  
The sound of his voice that way made Merlin acutely aware that they were holding hands. He extricated himself from Arthur’s grip.  
  
“You knew?” Merlin asked.  
  
Arthur smiled. “I was watching,” he said, levering himself from the bed. He glanced at the bedside table. “What’s that?” he enquired, nodding to the alternative vial.  
  
“It’s... it was another potion. It was meant to make you forget.”  
  
“Why would I want to forget?” Arthur asked.  
  
Merlin shook his head. “Not want. _Need_. But...” he said. “I couldn’t do it. Not without talking to you first.”  
  
Arthur put his hand to Merlin’s shoulder. “About what?”  
  
“I need to know; how you think he’ll... _you’ll._..react to knowing.”  
  
“Knowing what?” Arthur said. He drew closer, his concern at Merlin’s hesitance plain on his brow.  
  
“That I have magic,” Merlin explained.  
  
Arthur took his hand once more, tugging him to his feet. They were squeezed between the chair and the bed, their spaces overlapping, their bodies touching at angles; Merlin’s hip to Arthur’s thigh, his elbow to his chest.  
  
“I don’t know,” Arthur admitted. “Let me think about it.”  
  
****  
  
Their goblets of wine had long since run dry, but the table seemed just _so_ far away. The first flush of alcohol was a pleasant numb tingle running through Merlin’s veins. He was scooped, sideways on, in the heavy oaken chair and Arthur himself was sprawled recklessly across his bed, his feet stretched on to the unoccupied portion of Merlin’s seat. The night had thus been spent; talking like the old friends they were and could never normally be.  
  
“And all those times you were cowering behind a tree and then there was a rockslide?”  
  
“Me,” Merlin said.  
  
“All the times my enemies miraculously disarmed themselves just before the killing blow?”  
  
“Me,” said Merlin.  
  
“The time we were riding through the forest of Paleanor and Gwaine suddenly decided to take off all his clothes?”  
  
“That was... the mushrooms he found at the side of the trail.”  
  
“He _will_ put anything in his mouth, that man,” Arthur laughed. “Speaking of which...” He rolled onto his side and poked Merlin in the chest with a bestockinged toe. “How did your little trip together go?”  
  
Merlin felt himself flush. “You know about that?”  
  
“I can remember... parts of that day. I know he knew what he was doing when he put the two of you together.”  
  
“Arthur wants... you want...” Merlin shook his head a bit, trying to clear it. “ _He_ wants me and Gwaine to be close?”  
  
“He sees his knights as extensions of himself,” Arthur explained. “Were you and Gwaine to... solidify your friendship, he would be giving him what he can’t have himself.”  
  
“He fancies Gwaine?”  
  
Arthur chuckled. “Merlin, sometimes I’m not sure when you are acting the fool or just being foolish.”  
  
Merlin felt his ears grow hot. “Either way, I can’t see anything _solidifying_ between me and Gwaine. We’re friends, I’m happy to keep us as that.”  
  
“Ah well,” said Arthur. “You can’t blame the man for trying.”  
  
Merlin pointed slightly squiffily at Arthur. “Yes, I can,” he warned.  
  
Arthur poked his thigh with an outstretched toe.  
  
Merlin laughed; his laughter turned into a yawn.  
  
“You’re tired,” Arthur said.  
  
“I’m alright,” Merlin replied.  
  
Arthur pulled himself to sitting, opposing Merlin from the edge of his bed. “No, you’re not. You’ve been running yourself ragged to be with me and still to do what he asks of you.”  
  
Merlin twisted, mirroring Arthur’s stance. He could not meet Arthur’s eyes. “It’s my duty.”  
  
“Love should not be a duty,” Arthur said softly.  
  
Merlin looked up. He and Arthur’s bodies formed the shape of a chalice; their knees almost touching, their heads bowed so close that they nearly met.  
  
Arthur reached out; he took Merlin’s hand and guided between the loosely tied folds of his undershirt, letting it lie just below his clavicle.  
  
“You told me,” murmured Arthur, “that you have known love more than once.”  
  
“Yes,” Merlin agreed hoarsely.  
  
“Do you think it is possible to love two people at the same time?”  
  
Merlin tried to force a smile. His fingers rested against soft, warm skin stretched over hard, flat sinew. “I think that type of question is better directed at Gwaine...”  
  
Arthur shook his head. “I didn’t mean at the same time, together,” he explained. “But to love more than one person at a time.”  
  
Merlin’s breath hitched; it didn’t take the mind of a magister to see where Arthur was going. “Love, yes,” he said. He watched Arthur’s pupils widen. “Lay with? No.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
Merlin was not sure, not anymore. His throat would not obey his brain well enough to speak; it would barely swallow or carry breath.  
  
“If I am to be forgotten, what does it matter?”  
  
“It... it matters,” Merlin stammered. He pushed his chair back; the distance broke the touch.  
  
Arthur sighed. “You are a good man, Merlin,” he said. “I know that. He will know that.”  
  
“He will only know that if you don’t take the potion.”  
  
“He knows it anyway,” Arthur assured.  
  
“But he will never say it.”  
  
“If I don’t take the potion, I think he will.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Arthur’s eyes strayed from Merlin; they flickered to the bed. “Because he won’t be able to deny it any more: how he feels, how much he needs you.”  
  
“And we should trust to that.”  
  
“You should trust in me,” Arthur said.  
  
Slowly, Merlin nodded. He could not deny Arthur his trust, even if he could give him no more. This Arthur and his Arthur: he couldn’t choose one over the other. When the memories mingled, there would be no choice to make.  
  
“Goodnight, Arthur,” said Merlin. “I will see you in the morning.”  
  
“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur replied.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur needs a potion to help him sleep, there is only one person he can turn to. But as Gaius is currently off at a physician's moot in Mercia, Merlin will have to suffice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set some time in canon-era future but contains no spoilers (except supposing some form of extended life of Camelot).
> 
> The final part of this story. Thank you to all that have read and hopefully enjoyed!

There was no knock, no announcement. The first thing Merlin knew about anything was when two burly guards lifted him roughly out of his bed.  
  
“The King wants to see you,” sneered one; tall, his mouth full of crooked, blackened teeth.  
  
“Why?” said Merlin, still barely awake, his head spinning with his sudden rousal.  
  
“I think you know,” said the other, a shorter, plumper guard who had obviously sat his way through as many nightwatches as he had stood.  
  
Merlin’s hopes for this morning crumpled. He hung between the guards like a ragdoll: broken, defeated. He did not fight as they dragged him from his and Gaius’s rooms, in the direction of the audience chamber.  
  
****  
  
“Oof.” The guards tossed Merlin at the feet of his King with all the concern and grace as if they were hulking sacks of grain. The sudden impact of the floor knocked the wind from him and he looked up with welling eyes. Whether he wept from pain, fear or the knowledge that Arthur had summoned him this way, he did not know.  
  
Arthur looked down at the semi-clad form sprawled on the stones. Merlin stared back, unable to speak.  
  
“Get to your feet,” Arthur commanded.  
  
Merlin wobbled to standing.  
  
Arthur stared at him, long and hard. He seemed to be staring _into_ Merlin; past the rumpled shift and mussed up hair, the pale skin and cautious eyes. He was seeing Merlin in his whole, or maybe his soul, and it _hurt_ that this was the first time and, Merlin suspected, was to be the last.  
  
“Why?” Arthur asked simply.  
  
“Arthur, I don’t... I don’t know what...”  
  
“Tell me _why._ ”  
  
“I... I didn’t mean to,” Merlin stammered. “When I mixed the potion, I didn’t know what would happen. There was an ingredient, a type of moth wing, I used it thinking it would help you sleep better. I never intended, never _wanted_...”  
  
“He told me all this,” Arthur said. “He said you meant no harm, that you acted out of... love. He begged me not to punish you.”  
  
“You remember... him?” Merlin asked.  
  
Arthur shook his head. His shoulders, until that moment held tensely erect, slumped. “I don’t mean _him_. He and I... there was only ever me, really. Can your left hand claim innocence because it was your right that stole?”  
  
Arthur span, turning his back on Merlin. It was a gesture of rejection but also vulnerability; Arthur now knew that, even without a weapon, he was not without defence.  
  
Merlin pressed his lips into a tight line, taking a step closer to Arthur, seeing his muscles tense. “If not you, then who...”  
  
Gaius stepped from behind one of the columns. “He means me, Merlin.”  
  
“Gaius!”  
  
“I woke last night, and you weren’t there. I guessed what had happened. I was wrong to have asked you to do it. I know how much Arthur’s friendship means to you.”  
  
Merlin realised that Arthur was shaking.  
  
“So I went to him, just after dawn. I sat with him and I waited. When Arthur awoke, and began to remember, I tried to answer his questions. But he wouldn’t listen to me, he would only listen to you.”  
  
Arthur turned. “Why didn’t you let me forget?” he implored.  
  
“Arthur,” whispered Merlin.  
  
Arthur swallowed, his cheeks were hollow and his eyes raw. “What am I supposed to do, Merlin?” he said. “How am I supposed to take my wife abed knowing...” he glanced hesitantly at Gaius, “knowing what I know now?”  
  
“But he said... you said that you felt...”  
  
“I may have felt, but I never _knew_ ,” Arthur swore. “I never knew any of it. I saw loyalty where there was love and happenstance where there was _magic_.”  
  
It wasn’t in Merlin’s power, as great as the all the sages, warlocks and dragons may have told he bore, to contradict Arthur.  
  
“You know the law,” said Arthur in a low voice.  
  
“Sire,” pleaded Gaius.  
  
“Go...” Arthur whispered. “Go now. I told the guards that you had been found gambling in the tavern. If you leave, they will assume you have been dismissed. Remove yourself from Camelot, and I will not look for you.”  
  
“But Arthur...”  
  
“Go!” barked Arthur. He shoved Merlin roughly towards the door.  
  
Merlin planted his feet. “No!” he countered. “I have given you my _life,_ Arthur. I have sworn to stand by you and to die for you so many times that I can’t even remember them. I was born with magic, it is not something I can change, but even if I could, I _wouldn’t_. Magic has saved you, Gwen, your knights, this _Kingdom,_ many times over.” Boldly, he stepped up to Arthur and took his hand. There was something strange about Arthur’s grip, something concealed against his palm. “This is my home. I will not leave it.” he said.  
  
Arthur shook himself free of Merlin’s grasp. His eyes watered anew. “Then you leave me no choice,” he rasped.  
  
With a deft motion, Arthur brought something to his lips. Dark glass flashed in his hand as he knocked it back. He rocked and fell to his knees, the glass shattered on the floor.  
  
“Sire!” Gaius called.  
  
“Arthur,” Merlin cried. They rushed forward as one to Arthur’s side.  
  
Arthur looked at Merlin, his eyes drooping; growing dark. “I either remembered and let you leave, or if you stayed, I had to forget,” he said.  
  
“The potion,” said Gaius, poking the remains of the opaque vial with his finger. Arthur slipped further to the stones. “Help me get him to his throne,” Gaius instructed.  
  
Bearing most of his weight, Merlin virtually carried Arthur to his throne, the ceremonial heart of Camelot. He placed him upon it, assuming Arthur was already asleep. However, as Merlin stepped back from the dais, Arthur caught his wrist with a fierce urgency.  
  
“You never did answer me,” he murmured. “When you and I were atop the tower. I asked you... if you could hear the stars sing.”  
  
Merlin swallowed past his heart; held the loose gaze of his friend. “Yes,” he whispered. “I hear them.”  
  
Arthur smiled a small, soft smile. “I never could,” he said. His head lolled backwards, connecting with the wood with a dead thump.  
  
Gaius’s eyes trailed over him. He put his hand to Arthur’s chest and allowed it to rise and fall twice. “He’s asleep.”  
  
Merlin’s strength failed him. He slumped to the floor, leaning against Arthur’s legs. “Why would he do this?” he asked, looking up at Gaius with all the expectation of a child.  
  
“For love,” Gaius replied. He put a hand to Merlin’s shoulder. “One day, things will be different,” he promised. “Arthur will know you for who you are, and it will not take magic to do it. Only then will he be able to truly accept you, and to embrace his destiny.”  
  
“And what if that time never comes?” Merlin said.  
  
“It will. It might take a lifetime to come to it but, in the end, I know that it shall.”  
  
Slowly, Merlin nodded. Wiping dust from his knees and dirt-caked tears from his cheeks, he stood. “What do we do about all this,” he asked. “What do we tell him?”  
  
“I will make it known that Arthur has suffered a relapse of the illness that caught him but two days ago. I will tend him in his chambers and when he awakes, I will say that the sudden fever has robbed him of his memory. You must not see him, or attempt to see him until I am certain that the loss is complete.”  
  
“But what should I do? I’m his manservant.”  
  
Gaius pulled a small roll of paper from his sleeve. “Before we came here, Arthur gave me this. I think he foresaw this course of action and wanted this one thing not to be forgotten. It is a decree that you should serve as joint physician to Camelot.”  
  
“But I’m not ready,” Merlin protested.  
  
Gaius tucked the paper away once more. “No,” he agreed. “If this incident has revealed nothing else, it is that you still have much to learn. You can begin your study of Mydrake’s Cornucopia of Rare Herbs on your return to your room. That should keep you well occupied until I have ensured Arthur is recovered.”  
  
Merlin nodded. He glanced once more at Arthur’s peacefully sleeping face, and then to the worry-deepened lines of his mentor’s.  
  
He owed them both his life and had only his patience and heart to offer in return.

 

~~~~

_Gaius would know that and, one day, so would Arthur.  
The once and future King, a once and future lover._


End file.
